


History Rewritten

by FreezePride



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Harry as a mentor, Harry being a parental figure, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Time Travel AU, Warning: Mentions of rape in regards to Tom's parents, Young Tom Riddle, discovery of feelings, timestuck au, tomarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-14 12:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 104,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13590255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreezePride/pseuds/FreezePride
Summary: Harry narrowly escaped with his life after Voldemort's merciless victory the Battle of Hogwarts. With his friend falling one by one, to the Dark Lord's power, Harry finds that there is only one way to undo the future that he could not save: go back to the beginning. He travels back in time to confront Tom Marvolo Riddle, the boy who would one day grow to be the greatest and most terrible wizard alive. Will Harry be able to bring peace and solace to the future? Or will Tom remain the harbinger of war and genocide, no matter who tries to stand in his path?





	1. The End in the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> (( This is a compilation of a roleplay between myself (https://riddlemostpowerful.tumblr.com/) and HeroComplexing (http://herocomplexing.tumblr.com/). I played Tom, while my companion played Harry. Their writing is incredible, and I would highly recommend that you follow them. 
> 
> My sweet, adorable buddy Grace Lee (https://darklorddiscourse.tumblr.com/) collected most of the posts together for me, so I owe her a huge thanks. She's an incredible writer as well. 
> 
> Also a big ol' thanks to everyone who followed this AU storyline thus far. This upload has been promised for a LONG TIME and I really appreciate your patience. Thank you so much. ))

It had taken Harry several days to orientate himself. What year was it? Who was alive? Who was dead? Would anybody recognize him? The answers to those questions came to him slowly, his mind feeling as though it were full of cotton balls that buzzed inside his skull, hindering his comprehension of the world around him. It was only after this buzzing had receded that he recognized it for what it was: the time period adjusting to his presence. Accepting its intruder, as unwelcome as he might have been.

 

He had managed to eat and sleep by the third day. Took some food off some unsuspecting muggles and found himself a quiet alleyway, dozing in there until he had stabilized enough to be functional. He found out the year shortly after from a muggle newspaper. It was 1943, early summer. Tom Riddle had not yet made the transition into Voldemort and Harry Potter did not yet exist. He was relieved when he realized this; it would have been indefinitely more difficult to get a hold of Tom if he were already deep into his travels.

 

Being an encyclopedia of Tom Riddle facts by this time, Harry knew exactly where to go next. Albus Dumbledore’s voice, as clear as day, rung through his head as he found somewhere safe and out of the way to apparate from; ‘ _He left her, never saw her again, and never troubled to discover what became of his son_ ’. Hermione’s voice piqued in with a ‘ _be careful, Harry. Remember what happened last time you were there? Please be careful._ ’ She had been telling him to ‘be careful’ right up until her death. Ron had been a little more subdued in that regard, always trusting Harry to come out alright in the end. Harry’s tenacity had always ensured he did. He had become very adept at running and dodging over the years.

 

Harry didn’t particularly like apparition, even now, but he couldn’t think of a better way to get to his destination. He couldn’t go by broomstick because he hadn’t access to a broomstick, and he couldn’t go by floo powder because the Riddle house wouldn’t be connected to the network. As much as he loathed to do it, he had to apparate. So that was exactly what he did, and he managed to do so without splinching, thank goodness. He was old enough that apparition shouldn’t cause him this much grief, but, well… old habits die hard. Hermione had always been so much better at it than him.

 

It was a bit of a walk before he reached the heart of Little Hangleton. The building he was after, the Riddle residence, looked a great more regal without the overgrown vines and weather-worn extremities; it might’ve been breathtaking to someone who hadn’t attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The bright green grass surrounding it squelched beneath his feet as he ascended the hill. There was still some daylight left, which meant there would be time to move the Riddle family to a different location, somewhere safer, while he dealt with Tom Riddle.

 

He performed a simple unlocking charm on the door and - to his surprise, nothing happened. Testing the handle, he found the door was already unlocked. Harry nigh flung himself into the house upon realizing this, performing a silencing charm on his feet as he ran, bolting his way through the house, aiming for the drawing room. All the while he was cursing the house for being so needlessly large. Did three people _really_ need a whole manor?

 

At the sight of Tom he didn’t even think. He bellowed the word ‘expelliarmus’ so loud that he saw the Riddle’s – still alive, wide-eyed and terrified – jerk in their seats, turning to look at him with an expression of mingled disgust and fear. He wasn’t a pleasant sight, he was sure. All ragged and war-torn and filthy. It’d been ages since he’d had the opportunity to shave and bathe; The Riddle’s probably thought some insane homeless man had wandered in and started screaming nonsense.

 

As an afterthought, he belted into the room and grabbed for the back of Tom’s robes, just in case he had mastered apparition. Looked a little young for that, but, well… it paid to be cautious around Tom Riddle.

 

xx

 

The middle aged man stared up at his attacker, his mouth clenched shut, and eyes all but rolling into the back of his head in absolute horror. His hands were shaking violently as he gripped the arms of his cushioned chair, all but tearing at the fabric in his efforts to move, to run, to flee. The veins on his neck stood out in stark contrast to his beautifully smooth, porcelain skin as he held back a scream of terror.

 

The elderly gentleman looked more confused than his petrified son. He was staring back at him, level in control, perhaps sensing the boy’s hesitation, or maybe even amazed at the revelation that they were being attacked with a small stick. Either way, his thick, white mustache quivered with anger and loathing somewhere within his confusion as he stared forward.

 

The sensibly dressed woman to the elderly man’s side was entirely unreadable. She kept her neatly lipsticked mouth was in a firm, resolute line as she prevented herself from even the inclination of fear, staring the forces of what she could not see or entirely understand. Her lined face seemed rather grim as she looked at the attacker facing them, knowing him without having even met him once.  She seemed to somehow be resigned to her fate, despite the anger in her eyes.

 

Everything, from their uncertainty, to their confusion, to their horror seemed to stem from the rather young, robed boy before, a boy who faked confidence as his mind refused to move forward as second by harrowing second ticked by on the huge grandfather clock.

 

Tom was holding his breath.

 

Everything within the towering manor seemed to want to crush him under the weight of the silence which had fallen. He was sweating. He was shaking. He was every bit as weak as every revolting individual he had ever hated and yet he couldn’t seem to get past one single solitary fact, one repeating loop of a thought which refused to be denied.

 

_He looked exactly like them._

 

Tom had never stared into the face of someone who shared his features. He knew those high, regal cheekbones, that deep black, silken hair, the straight edge of that nose. He was even familiar with the thin fingers which tightened in horror on his chair as he stared with wide, shining eyes up at him.  There was no mistaking that recognition. It was the face that he woke up to every single morning, the face that he had forced the emotions from long ago now locking eyes with him from across the room, his angular jaw clenched in abject terror.  

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, his thoughts were moving fast.  He needed to move beyond this, and it must be done quickly and neatly. No one must know of his parentage. He would do away with his living relatives now and he would move past this. His insane Uncle would be the perfect fall back, the perfect scapegoat for his crime. If only he could-

 

His grip tightened on his wand to keep his hand from shaking, but he couldn’t seem to stop staring into those eyes. His eyes. In a life full of people who didn’t even seem to look vaguely like him, this man was sitting here, _wearing his eyes._ He’d been here all along. Always wearing his eyes and hiding away.

 

Tom snapped his own shut, concentrating hard, willing himself to snap out of it, grappling with those thoughts and needing to push past and find it, the hatred, the pain, the anger, and the chilling cold rooted in countless nights spent alone and awake on his orphanage bed, wondering, wanting, needing the man before him, and now to learn _this_ …yes, there it was. Now, he had it.

 

His sense of purpose. **He would make the pay.**

 

Soft, gentle green light tipped his wand as the words consumed his mind. He lifted his wand to cast the spell and suddenly went flying into the wall behind him.

 

Blindsided, Tom crumpled to the floor, weaponless and winded as a cry of despair erupted from his father, no longer silenced or confined to his seat. The grandfather dashed forward with speed unexpected of a man his age, lunging for a tall glass case and tearing open the wooden door frames to reveal several sizable and well-kept hunting muskets.

 

xx

 

Ah, guns. Of course there were guns. He should have expected wealthy family like the Riddles to have a few within reach at all times. Harry wordlessly shut the cabinet on the muggle, almost catching those long thin fingers of his in the process. It wouldn’t open for him no matter how desperately he tugged at the fine silver handle. Harry then willed Tom’s wand to himself, pocketing it with his grip still firm around a handful of its owner’s robes. He’d involuntarily pulled the boy closer to himself rather than let him crumple to the floor.

 

After all this time, all the suffering and loss inflicted on himself and others, he was finally, _finally_ going to be able put things right. The thought rejuvenated him, made him feel less like a man who’d been on the run for years, trying and failing to save those he cared about, and more like the ‘chosen one’ Trelawney had claimed him to be.

 

He sent the Elder Riddle back into his chair with a simple propelling spell. Not the gentlest way to do it, but it was fast. Licking his lips, he uttered “obliviate” and followed it with a soft “stupefy”. Didn’t want to have the muggles go ricocheting into the walls. He just wanted them unconscious long enough to make an escape. The spell would wear off within ten to twenty minutes, after which the Riddles would awaken very confused indeed. He hadn’t provided them with a false memory to replace the one he had removed. There wasn’t time for that. He needed to get himself and Tom somewhere out of the way, somewhere quiet, like…

 

Little Whinging (Little Hangleton, Little Whinging, both occupied by muggles that had rejected their magic relatives; the parallel made Harry frown. There were far too many parallels between himself and Voldemort). Little Whinging was where he would go. He’d find an empty house – not Number 4 Privet Drive; too many bad memories associated with that place. There ought to be at least a few on the market that he could temporarily occupy. He clutched Tom tight to himself and with a loud pop, disappeared before the pale, unconscious faces of Tom’s family.

 

They landed on asphalt. Surveying the street, he located the nearest house with a ‘for sale’ sign and approached, dragging the sign out of the ground with his wand as he headed for the attached garage. He opened it, slid inside, and threw the sign into a dark corner. Put up a few wards and he – they? – ought to be able to stay here for at least a couple of weeks.

 

The house was still reasonably well furnished. There were a few chairs and tables scattered throughout the house, some clearly having been moved from other rooms. The kitchen was a bit bare, but he could go out and get himself some cutlery and kitchen utensils if he found himself wanting. The lounge room had two seats, a coffee table, and a fire. For that, Harry was grateful. He hadn’t known such comforts in quite some time. He dropped the unconscious Tom into the chair furthest from the fire and lashed him to it with magical bindings, and then proceeded to light the fire and hunch down in front of it, warming his chilled hands and face. He was still shaking minutely from the adrenaline that had rushed his veins the moment he had found that front door unlocked. He curled his hands into fists, squeezed tight, and then unfurled them, but they were still shaking. Harry hoped it would cease before Tom awoke. The last thing he needed was Tom to think he – a grown man – was afraid of a teenager, or afraid of what he was about to do to that teenager.

He had decided prior to attempting time travel that he wouldn’t kill Tom, but as Dumbledore had said on numerous occasions, ‘there are worse things than death’.

 

xx

 

There hadn’t been time for cohesive thought.  Tom could vaguely feel that he had been grabbed, rather unceremoniously by what must have been his attacker. The dueling skills that he had took so much pride in were left by the wayside as he found himself quite weaponless.  That deadly sense of purpose which had fueled his anger not a few seconds before dissipated in a heartbeat, replaced by an overwhelming sense of vertigo, as though he had been physically struck into a wall.

 

He felt the grip around him tighten and somewhere in the back of his own mind, he felt the press of a side-along apparition being forced upon him and before he knew it, darkness engulfed him and the world went a fuzzy, unnamable shade of gray.

 

When he came to from the haze of semi-consciousness, he awoke slowly and kept his eyes carefully shut, taking stock of himself before he could even begin to account for much else. His body seemed to be intact and unharmed as far as he was aware, but his senses were telling him that he was not quite out of danger yet.  Slowly, carefully testing out his muscles, he quickly learned from the dull ache in his side that he had been knocked back somehow, perhaps with the same spell that had disarmed him. Seemed unlikely, but he couldn’t possibly argue otherwise.

 

He tried to move his arms, or even his fingers ever so slightly, but found them held fast in place.  These were no normal bindings. He should have assumed as much. Thankfully, the seat he seemed to be bound to was reasonably comfortable. It made it all the easier for faking that he was still out cold. There was the smell of ash and smoke that suddenly occurred to Tom, and he nearly cried out in alarm, thinking that his captor had thought him an expendable piece of fodder, but he bit back his fear and panic, settling to only open his eyes the slightest crack.

 

There was a man by the fireplace which he was facing, Tom realized, just a touch relieved. It was incredibly difficult to tell his age from his angle, but he must have been on the younger side, and yet, there was something remarkably weathered about him, from the ragged clothing, to the overgrown hair, to the way his hands shook as he attempted to warm them by the fire. His captor had obviously seen better days, apparently, but Tom was not about to make the mistake of letting his guard down once again.

 

It had been quite a while since he had even thought to try it, but he could almost feel the pull of magic crackling at his fingertips. _Wandless magic, barely controllable, but so overwhelmingly useful._  The last time he had used it, he had desperately needed it within the orphanage in order to defend himself. Now, at the grimmest possible moment, it seemed to be returning to him, like a long forgotten lullaby from a mother he never knew.

 

_Pain. Make him feel such pain. Make him release me and give me back my wand._

 

Tom concentrated with alarming focus for a young man who was bound, weaponless and still feeling just a touch queasy, but he refused to give up his sense of control. This ragged newcomer would bend to his will, no matter the cost.  He needed to escape, needed to get back. But to what? Little Hangleton? Hogwarts? How could he remedy this mess that the idiot before him had created?

 

_Unhand me, you swine! Unhand me so that I can create my own future and forget this filthy past._

 

_Xx_

 

Accelerated by magic, the fire was quick to warm Harry. The adrenaline soon waned and the shivering subsided. He gave a great, heaving sigh as he dropped back on his hunches, taking a moment to enjoy the warmth that was slowly pervading the air. This was a short-lived pleasure as an unpleasant, throbbing sensation spread throughout his forehead, the source being – as it so often was – the puckered white flesh of his scar. Though a fragment of Voldemort’s soul no longer resided there, having been destroyed by Voldemort himself, back at Hogwarts, it remained sensitive to the magic of the one who had created it. Evidently that extended to younger versions of Voldemort. He rose to his feet, wholly unaffected by the discomfort, and approached Tom. He had become accustomed to pain at a young age. Found it difficult to shrug off, at times, but it was the least likely thing to incapacitate him these days.

 

He brought the chair opposite Tom’s closer with a wave of his wand, moving the coffee table out of the way in a similar manner so he could seat himself before the boy.

 

“You’re awake, then. Just so you know, that isn’t really doing anything.” Giving him a mild headache, sure, but hindering him? Certainly not. He had been a skilled wizard at seventeen years old. At twenty two he had a full arsenal of spells to counter any attempts to harm him. Granted, they didn’t always work, and he wasn’t nearly as powerful as Voldemort or Dumbledore, but his tenacity usually got him through.

 

“Right, so…” he’d had years to prepare for this conversation, but Harry’s well-rehearsed words were failing to surface now that he needed them, and there were instead large gaps of silence while he thought about what to say. “…First of all, I want to reassure you I’m not here to harm you, despite what these… these uncomfortable circumstances might lead you to believe.”

 

Harry ran his hands up through his hair, scratching at the dirty locks before he let his hands fall back into his lap. He’d pulled away with dirt under his nails. He really needed a bath.

 

“I’m not going to be turning you over to the ministry either,” he continued. “We’re going to be spending some time together, Tom. A lot of time, actually.”

 

Xx

 

Tom had to admit himself slightly impressed. By all arguments, the pain he was causing was something that he had been inherently given since his youth, and he had been training with ever since he could discover the grim little trick, but the rather ragged man seemed undeterred by it entirely.  If anything, it just seemed to be a vague annoyance, like the buzzing of a fly in the room.  

 

The firelight flickered, casting a soft glow on the man’s face and revealing, to Tom’s surprise, that he was a great deal younger than he had first assumed. It was rather hard to discern beyond the grime and the overgrown hair, but he seemed within his mid-twenties. The sheen of his glasses couldn’t hide the bright green of his almond shaped eyes as he rather casually arranged a chair to sit down and face him.

 

Tom kept his breathing steady and prompted himself to think logically, but it was nigh impossible beyond the buzz of panic which was vibrating through his mind. The man was telling him that his efforts to deter him were futile and Tom might have found a suitable response if he didn’t keep looking at his own reflection in those glasses and seeing the terrified face of his father staring back.

 

Christ, they had the same face. He had been alive all along. He looked exactly like that ‘pretty muggle man’, as his Uncle had so astutely pointed out. He swallowed hard, fighting down the fear of being defenseless, looking for a way out, but his thoughts kept turning back to his father and the shrill words he had screamed before Tom had seen fit to silence him.

 

_“You’re her son!” He had all but choked on his own scream of terror. “That woman who drugged me! S-she-!” He cut himself off, almost as though too disgusted to continue. “And now you’re here to finish the job! I knew it!” He shrieked, heaving a dry sob and tearing at his beautiful hair. “I knew it all along! It was magic, I tell you! Satanic black magic, God help me!”_

 

Tom continued to keep his breathing steady, even as his mind spiraled off dangerously.  He swallowed back fear and searched for words.

 

“You haven’t really thought this through, have you?” He forced himself to speak, relieved to find that his voice, though barely above a whisper, was still smooth and taunting. “If you were take me to the ministry, what could you possibly accuse me of? _Nothing happened._ If anything, you would be arrested for kidnapping.” Despite the cold of his own skin, he could feel sweat dripping down his long, graceful neck as his fingers gripped at the arms of his chair.

 

“And you wouldn’t dare hurt me or the consequences would be even worse.” He challenged, sounding far more confident now than he felt. Any moment now, the man before him could lash out and flay the very flesh from his body, and he would be defenseless to retaliate, but as long as he kept calm, he may be able to get out of this situation alive. “Whoever you are, I don’t intend on spending any time with you at all. If you return my wand to me, I may very well overlook this,” He glared haughtily at him, as though fishing for the correct word. “Escapade.”

 

“Now, free me. Immediately.” He demanded, ignoring dizzy sensation which lingered in the back of his mind, and the memories of his father’s terror which refused to be shoved away.

 

Xx

 

The urge to laugh tickled his throat. He was already being threatened. How very like Voldemort. He managed to rein in a laugh, but his lips curved into a small, pleasant smile, though he was sure Tom would interpret it as mocking.

 

“Forget I mentioned the ministry. I was trying to calm you down, but it looks like it’s done the opposite.” Was there anything he could say without Tom regarding it with suspicion? He suspected not.

 

He seemed unperturbed by Tom’s volatile behaviour. He was too used to such things by now to be bothered by it in the slightest. Voldemort had always been the sort of man who reacted strongly to anything less than admiration of his abilities, and Harry had gotten quite used to his threats and insults.

 

Leaning back in his chair, Harry continued. “It’s a good thing nothing happened. I thought for sure I’d come too late. Though I’d come in and they’d all be dead and there’d be yet another horcrux to deal with.” He was sure Tom would be compelled to comment at this point, so he raised a hand to forestall interruption. “Before I continue, you’ve probably guessed by now that I know a lot about you, and I know it’s going to upset you that I know a lot about you. I’ll explain how eventually, but right now – you don’t even know my name, so I’ll tell you that first, and then we can talk about, uh. Horcruxes and your family.” His hand dropped. “You can call me Harry.”

 

Xx

 

_Bastard._

 

Tom scowled, realizing that it was technically himself who was the bastard, but this individual seemed all too willing to scoff at his orders, going so far as to nearly laugh at him in this regrettable state. Tom’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he straightened himself up to full height. Even seated, he could be a rather intimidating figure, particularly while glaring daggers at his companion.

 

But of course, the other man seemed unperturbed.  His dirtied face smiled back at him, and as he explained himself, Tom could have laughed at the rather shoddy attempt that the other man had made at trying to calm him down.  Did this _idiot_ suppose that knocking someone out and binding them to a chair could be somehow excused with pretty and soothing assurances? This was a fool’s game and Tom knew it.

 

The man before him was all too capable of tearing him to pieces and he wouldn’t be distracted into forgetting that fact.  The power of his simple disarming spell had sent him flying into the wall and rendered entirely unconscious.  His binding spell had neither lessened in their time speaking, nor even slightly wavered.  He was clearly malnourished and a bit beaten, but even still, a rather seasoned wizard in his own right.  Tom might have respected that if he wasn’t currently trying to worm his way out of this damned situation.

 

At the mention of ‘horcrux’, Tom couldn’t help himself from sucking in air, his eyes widening in shock. Yet another blindsided moment, he inwardly cursed, but how could this man have possibly known? His grip on the chair instinctively tightened and his jaw clenched tight, clearly enraged at being cut off yet again by the other man’s words. Harry, _apparently_ , saw fit to keep him quiet for a time.

 

This man knew far too much, but Tom refused to give himself away. He mentally began to reach out as his eyes focused on Harry’s face, his brilliant eyes that…rather striking scar.  He searched the other’s mind as he spoke.

 

“What do you know?” He hissed. “And how do know this?”

 

Xx

 

He’d been looking into Tom’s eyes, straight into them when he felt the slight probing sensation that accompanied legilimency. In his haste to calm Tom, he had forgotten that particular ability. He could recognized when his mind was being invaded, but he was no better at occlumency despite the time that had passed; his thoughts and feelings were still very much on his sleeve. Snape’s harsh words flittered briefly through his mind – ‘ _Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily — weak people, in other words — they stand no chance against his powers!_ ’ and he knew at once that Tom would have been privy to them.

 

He averted his eyes, the only manner of which he knew to avoid having the deeper depths of his thoughts uncovered. There was only so much he wanted Tom to know at this time.

 

“Well, to be completely honest, it’d be easier to tell you what I _don’t_ know. I know just about everything about you – including your future, which is why I’m here.” Over Tom’s shoulder, he could see the kitchen. A wave of his wand filled two glasses and sent them whizzing into the lounge room. He set Tom’s glass on the coffee table. “Unless being rendered powerless and insane for a decade is something you fancy, it’s not a future you’ll want to pursue.” He resumed looking at Tom, just briefly, so Tom could see snapshots of himself in weak, pitiful stages of his life; drinking unicorn blood to survive, being held like an infant by an ugly, balding servant, and then he looked away, taking a sip of his water. It probably wasn’t the most dignified display, but the moment the water touched his lips he proceeded to empty the entire glass. It’d been a while since he’d had something to drink. He then wiped his mouth on the back of a sleeve, sending the glass back into the kitchen.

 

“Not that I’m giving you a choice. I’m not going to let you continue making Swiss cheese of your soul.” Tom was a bit of a brat, sure, but no one deserve to be what Voldemort eventually made of himself. Being powerful wasn’t compensation enough for the stability and humanity Voldemort had deprived himself of.

 

Xx

 

He knew. Apparently, Tom was not the only one familiar with what the powers of legilimency entailed. Harry had broken eye contact almost immediately after realizing what Tom had been up to, no doubt to protect his thoughts much more carefully.  He wasn’t doing a startlingly good job of it, Tom realized. As skilled or powerful as Harry might have been, this seemed to be an area of weakness for him. His tired thoughts swirled around his mind and Tom picked up on a few stray memories that Harry had perhaps tried to keep to himself.

 

 _“It’d be easier to tell you what I don’t know…”_ The words echoed in Tom’s mind as he peered into Harry’s spotting flashes of an enraged man, gleaming red eyes flashing as power radiated from the dark cloaked figure. The recollections were moving so quickly that Tom didn’t have a chance to see what happened next, what the figure would do with all that power. Harry had forced other memories to the forefront, one’s that he apparently wanted to make very clear to his trapped companion.

 

A decrepit small, sickening looking baby creature, shivering and weak as a portly, sniveling man attended to it. A robed monster with silver blood dripping down the front of its robes as it stalked to its next victim. The memories were so vivid, so terrifying that Tom felt as though he had been transported for a fleeting moment, but he kept his face rigidly unreadable as he gripped the arms of his chair, the only movement he had been allowed within his bindings.

 

Upon his rather shaken return to reality, he listened quietly to Harry’s ultimatum.

 

There was a distinct pause as he waited for Tom’s response, and Tom waited to collect himself after the rather jarring experience he had just been forced through.  His thoughts swirled with the revelations which did not seem to connect. The mutilated baby. The beast who was drinking silver blood. The red-eyed figure with all of the power. All while hearing the screams of his father echoing over and over again.

 

_The son of that woman! Come back to finish me off!_

 

“You’re not being clear. Tell the truth.” Tom demanded, but in that breathless voice of uncertainty, he sounded much less like a controlling mastermind, and much more like a confused teen. “None of this makes any sense! Start from the beginning!” He snapped, trying to deny the feeling of nausea currently growing in his abdomen.

 

Xx

 

It was odd to hear Voldemort speak in voice so startlingly _human_. Harry’s most prominent memories of Voldemort had him speak soft, but vicious words. Moments of calm were, in some ways, a great deal more terrifying than the occasions Voldemort had lost his temper. When he spoke softly, quietly, talking to you as though you were there for something as trivial as a tea party, it was because he was in control. Because you were exactly where he wanted you.

 

But Tom Riddle wasn’t Voldemort. Not yet, in any case. Harry would have to keep on reminding himself of that if he ever wanted to reform the boy. If he went into this thinking of Tom as a psychopathic murderer – which, to be fair, wasn’t _that_ far off the mark considering Tom’s actions with the basilisk – he was going to find it exceedingly hard to treat him like a human being rather than a monster.

 

 _Tom’s scared_ , he reminded himself. He was, after all, only seventeen, and he had just been captured by a man who claimed to know his future and who was showing him snippets of the awful creature he was to become.

 

“The beginning…” he said quietly, contemplatively. Perhaps he ought to backtrack to Tom’s roots. “You already know your mother’s a witch, and your father’s a muggle. I don’t know if you’re aware of the circumstances under which they, uh, had you, but your mother, she-” It was hard to find a delicate way to explain to Tom that he was the result of rape. No one wanted to know they had been born under such abhorrent circumstances. “She did a terrible thing to your father, Tom. I’m not sure how exactly she did it, but the reason he was never in your life is because she – she forced herself on him, though magical means. She did that for a very long time, and I don’t think he ever forgot what she did or recovered from it.”

 

Talking about Tom’s conception was just as hard and just as awkward as Harry had anticipated.

“I know that’s… not an easy thing to hear, especially from someone you just met, but you’re almost an adult, and you deserve the truth.”

 

Xx

 

It was almost as though there was a shift in the air around them. It felt incredibly as though those electric sparks of animosity had somewhat died down to a subtle buzz of tension. Of course, it did nothing to ease the expectation of attack that was quite plainly in Harry’s attentiveness, or his need to keep his wand close, and Tom’s own hidden away. Harry seemed to be stumbling over himself once again. Careful with his words in a way he had lacked before, in a tone he had not taken when trying to scare him. Was this sympathy? Empathy? Or worse, was it pity? The muscles of his jaw tightened as he swallowed down that bitter pill. Damn him. Damn it all. If only he could get to his wand.

 

Tom took slow, soft breaths, trying to hide the fact that he desperately needed air. He was so ridiculously cold and yet the room was feeling staggeringly hot. Or perhaps it was just the magic snaking around his form that was jarring to him. Either way, he was anything but comfortable, and quite far from being comforted.

 

This story, it seemed to make a great deal of sense given his circumstances. He stared blankly at Harry, believing him, not wanting to believe him, hearing his words but sincerely wanting to block them away. He had asked for the full story, had he not?  He had demanded it, from the beginning. All of the pieces to clearly fall into place. His insane Uncle’s comments, the horrified shrieks of his father, the anger from his grandfather and the grim silence from his grandmother. If this were true, if his mother really had committed such an act…

 

“I don’t understand.” He spoke instinctively now, before he thought things through, his voice soft as though unaccustomed to the sensation of letting the words fall as they would. “If she had those abilities, she could have chosen to live.”

 

There was a pause. His eyes closed tightly as he tried to deny that the room was spinning as much as his own conception. Of course there was a reason as to why she was dead. _She had chosen not to live_. Oh, how bitterly clear it was. She raped a filthy magic-less man and then couldn’t live with the shame of the action or worse, the child that resulted. “Why should I trust you?” He hissed, forcing his eyes open again, trying to see lies where there was truth within Harry’s mind, seeking fruitlessly as his fingers clawed at the arms of his chair.

 

Xx

 

Harry wouldn’t delude himself by thinking Tom would trust him even if he gave him a legitimate reason to do so. He had, after all, kidnapped the boy. Trust was going to be an evasive, fickle thing if ever he did acquire it.

 

“You don’t have to trust me. You can either take my word for it or come to your own conclusions.” Because Harry wasn’t about to push forth memories of himself and Dumbledore discussing Tom’s birth. He didn’t want to subject Tom to that; it would only serve to further confuse and upset him.

After a moment hesitation, he released one of Tom’s arms and nudged his hand with the glass of water. All through magic, of course. He wasn’t about to get too close to a seventeen year old wizard prodigy.

 

“Whatever you decide, the point I’m trying to make is- your father, he doesn’t deserve to die. I think you could see for yourself that he was very intimidated by you, and not because you were brandishing what he probably thought was a stick.”

He let their eyes meet, just briefly, to show that he was sincere. Tom would find no lies within his mind. He would, however, find Hogwart’s sprawling hallways and lavish classrooms and the fire-lit Gryffindor common room as testament to Harry’s warm, open personality. He had his secrets, of course, but his mind at rest had only stray hints of darkness - monochrome corners and locked doors and a flash of green followed by the faint scream of a woman. Those were harder to find among the radiant sea of gold and red.

 

Xx

 

Tom felt an inkling of relief. Harry was not about to try to convince him to believe that whatever he was spouting was the truth. He knew better than to try any manipulation tactics, or bringing up memories that could be falsified and molded to his own ends. Tom would have known, without a doubt, that if that were the case, Harry would have been lying. But the other man was confident enough in what had occurred here between them, and the logical soundness of his words, that Tom would come to the truth on his own. It was refreshing to be trusted with even that much. It showed that Harry had an iota of confidence in his ability to deduce.

 

“Why?” Tom asked finally. Hearing Harry speak and looking into his eyes, he could almost sense a warm presence, an open mind, an organic, kind generosity even when he wasn’t beyond his own confusion quite yet. “Why are you defending him? What is any of this to you?” His voice was the same even controlled tone.

 

He felt the binding on his arm ease, the water nudge at his hand but he refused to move quite yet. The water felt cool against his skin, but anything could be a threat and he forced his instincts into submission. In actuality, this didn’t make too much sense.  If this stranger had wanted to threaten him at any point, kill him, or take advantage of him in this defenseless state, he certainly could have. He had the skill too, that was certain. But that open, welcoming, warm atmosphere he wanted Tom to believe in was just a bit too good to be true.

 

There was no way someone would have chosen to save his wretched, shrieking father without some sort of payment.  Tom blinked slowly, trying to get the room to stop spinning, but then it occurred to him, Harry knew he wasn’t feeling well. He knew that Tom’s current state was anything but stable. He was perhaps expecting Tom to be sick, and maybe he was quite right because Tom did feel as though he were heating up rather dangerously.

_But why not use this to his advantage?_

 

Tom tried to grasp at the glass of water, faking deftly his own hand’s trembling before knocking it over _accidentally._  With a frustrated groan, he slumped forward in his seat, quieting his thoughts to clarity, and blocking out what he could not entirely silence, to make it seem as though he had passed out, held suspended by Harry’s magical bindings.

 

Xx

 

“Your father isn’t _really_ the focus here. It’s-“

 

And that was as far as he got before being interrupted by the glass of water being sprayed across the carpet. With a wave of his wand he picked it up and set it back on the coffee table, and when he lifted his head to ask Tom if he would like assistance with his next glass of water, he was startled to find him unconscious in his chair. He’d never thought of Tom Riddle as sensitive enough to pass out over – well – _anything_ , but there had been an awful lot of force behind his disarming spell; perhaps Tom had a concussion? He really should have checked beforehand.

 

His every movement was hesitant, but he eventually stood out of his chair and approached Tom, setting the back of his hand on Tom’s forehead. Hot. _Very_ hot. Moving his hand down to Tom’s neck to check his pulse, he noticed there was a concerning amount of sweat. Some of Tom’s hair was plastered to his forehead.

 

“Tom?”

 

He used his other hand to reach into his pocket as he spoke, groping around the deepest depths for a bag of potions. Its enchanted material enabled him to fit an incredible number of items inside. He had everything from potion ingredients to spell books in there. Tom’s wand was lying somewhere at the bottom.

 

“Tom? Hang on, I have a pepper-up potion in here somewhere.” It was generally used for colds, but it’d still make Tom feel better.

 

Xx

 

It was working.

 

Harry had completely fallen for his farce. Without even so much as a question of the genuine nature of his sickness, Harry had simply jumped to his aid. There was something to be said of someone who was so very suspicious of him and all at once, someone who was so very giving of his time and efforts as to help a seemingly defenseless boy.  

 

Perhaps he was just a touch too willing to try to help him out. Tom couldn’t help but find himself questioning Harry’s real intentions here. Even aside from the fancy footwork involved in evading the questions of how Harry had managed any of this elaborate feat, there was always the question of ‘why reveal all of this new knowledge and suddenly expect some sort of reaction? Why interrupt such a pivotal moment? And why Tom?

Harry had leaned in close now, checking gently over Tom’s vitals, placing his fingertips gently on his forehead and then gently pressing at the artery of his neck. Tom could feel the heat of his skin not two inches away from his own body and it took considerable effort to keep himself calm, carefully unassuming in his ‘unconscious’ state.

 

It was now or never.

 

In one tense motion, Tom’s head snapped up once again, and using his freed arm, punched Harry as hard as he could manage in his bound state.  He put all of his power and energy into straining against those bindings that currently kept him locked into that chair.  He swiped at the wand so tantalizingly close in Harry’s hand, hoping to snatch it away from his captor.

 

If only he could get that wand, he would be able to not only free himself, but force this random man to start speaking some sense, to explain the insanity he had just been through and the enigma that encompassed the fact that he seemed to know more about Tom and his own history that Tom knew himself. It was a jarring and terrifying experience all at once, but there was certainly a note of genuine truth to Harry that Tom couldn’t entirely deny.

 

Xx

 

He should have expected to be assaulted, really. At least he’d had the forethought to tighten his grip on his wand.

 

Staggering backwards, Harry very nearly tripped over the coffee table, only managing to stop his descent by sitting himself down. As he did, he gave a grimace and slammed his free hand – the hand with a pepper-up potion clutched in it – onto the wooden surface, steadying himself. It had hurt the small of his back to sit so suddenly and on furniture that was much too low for that purpose.

There was a thick stream of blood coming from his nose. The only thing he had to stifle it with was his robe, which was already filthy and stained. He supposed another patch of dark brown wouldn’t make much difference. Sniffing and holding a sleeve beneath his streaming nostrils, he frowned at Tom. He wasn’t going to lose his temper, not over a bloody nose; not over scared, desperate seventeen year old, though he clearly wasn’t happy.

 

“Well, now I know you’re just fine,” said Harry, his voice slightly muffled. “Maybe we ought to talk later. I should make you more comfortable first.” And how he intended to do that involved the assistance of a witch or wizard. There ought to be someone in Diagon Alley he could coerce over here to perform the Unbreakable Vow. It wouldn’t take him long to retrieve someone, but in the meantime, Tom looked like he would benefit from a nap.

 

The pepper-up potion was returned to the small satchel he’d taken it from. He then removed a vial of thick purple liquid that looked as though it were filled with glitter. Tom would easily be able to recognize it as a sleeping draught. A whispered “stupefy” rendered Tom momentarily immobile, and he uncorked the vial, draining the contents into Tom’s mouth. The spell would wear off within a few minutes, by which time Tom would be drifting off to sleep. It ought to keep him out long enough to let Harry do what he needed to do. But just in case, he would transfigure some ropes (one of the few things he actually could transfigure due to necessity) and tie him to the chair.

 

Xx

 

Tom was absolutely seething. As weak as he felt, it didn’t seem to negate from his emotions. His teeth were clenched in an unbecoming grimace as he tried desperately to swat to the wand before realizing that Harry had already retreated clumsily out of reach, nursing a broken nose. Tom glared venomously at him for having the audacity to foil his sudden attack, but refused to say a word on the subject. He kept his mouth tightly closed as he withdrew his arm to rest gently on the chair once again contemptuously, as though he had chosen to do so from the beginning, ignoring his bruised knuckles.

 

He expected violent retaliation. If he was to face it, he would do it with his chin up and mouth shut. He wouldn’t give Harry the satisfaction of hearing him scream in pain and beg like an animal for mercy.

 

But Harry did nothing of the sort. In all honesty, he seemed to be taking the broken nose in stride, albeit a good bit of annoyance at having to mop up the blood from his face with his robes. The challenging rage in Tom’s expression eased a touch as his curiosity was piqued in the back of his mind. Harry seemed strangely accepting for a man who had just been physically assaulted.

 

The confusion did nothing to calm Tom, but it certainly was a comfort to know he was not about to be skinned alive or slowly sliced apart. Not yet anyway.

 

He would have to find another way out of this damned chair, and it would have to be when Harry finally vacated his presence. But Harry seemed to be fiddling with his bag once again, and this time, not nearly foolish enough to take his attention from Tom.  He withdrew a small vial with a shimmering liquid. Tom’s face lit up with recognition, _sleeping draught_. Though he made to refuse, he felt the effects of a stunning curse sent his way, much more than he heard them whispered under Harry’s breath.

 

Before he knew it, the drink was slipping down his throat, thick and warm, and he might have choked had his body not been so eager for an excuse for respite. He coughed weakly before slumping over in his seat once again, this time genuinely (and rather deeply) asleep.

 

_He was sitting in his small room at Wool’s orphanage, his feet barely touching the ground as he swung them back and forth, waiting for the conversation outside his door to end, for them to decide where he was to go.  His father was shrieking, “Come to finish the job!” as the men from the institution rattled the handle to his door._

 

_Tom slipped off of his bed. He wanted to hide in the cabinet with all of his treasures, but his feet were frozen. He could not move, let alone hide from them. His father was crying now. The door knob turned. Tom gripped his bedpost. If his mother had chosen death, perhaps she had meant it for him as well, but he couldn’t let her. Not now, not ever._

 

Xx

 

The only thing Harry was able to find to transfigure into rope was a pile of dishcloths. The results were a little… colourful, dark shades of red and blue instead of a tawny brown, but they had the strength of rope so Harry wasn’t going to try to do a better job. The magical bindings retreated as he secured Tom’s wrists and ankles together with the rope, and then tied his torso to the body of the chair. Magic was used to further tighten each knot. He wanted to make sure Tom wouldn’t be able to move more than a few inches if he awoke before Harry returned (though he was confident Tom wouldn’t; he’d given him an unnecessarily large dose of sleeping draught).

 

Once he was sure Tom wouldn’t be going anywhere, Harry stepped outside and apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. No muggles seemed to notice him pop into being seemingly out of nowhere. He pushed through crowds of them to enter the Leaky Cauldron, hurrying for Diagon Alley. But it wasn’t Diagon Alley that he surveyed for a potential bonder; he walked straight through to Knockturn Alley, passing men and women who regarded him with hungry eyes as he strode into the deepest, darkest recesses of the shopping area. Harry had few reservations about either cursing or paying one of the occupants of this place to assist him.

In the end he selected the first person to accost him as his bonder. They were a heavily cloaked man with yellowing teeth and wide, bloodshot eyes. Their long dirty fingers had grappled at his robe as he had attempted to pass, trying to pull him into a dangerous looking alleyway. Harry had subsequently cast the Imperius Curse on him and they had returned to the house at which Tom was being kept not ten minutes later.

 

As far as bonders go, he wasn’t ideal, but he’d do the job alright. Now all he had to do was wake Tom up.

 

The cheapest and easiest potion to brew was the awakening potion, so Harry had plenty of that in his satchel. He’d used it on himself on more than one occasion in order to remain awake during guard duty. Uncorking a vial, he emptied the contents into Tom’s mouth and untied one of his hands, grasping it tight with his own. He had his companion – the short, ugly little wizard he had under the Imperius curse – stand before their arms, holding out his wand. It was as short and ugly as the man wielding it.

 

Sitting on the very edge of coffee table, Harry waited.

 

Xx

 

His dream had taken a rather surreal turn. His room at the orphanage darkened and blurred just as the hands of those awaiting him outside reached out for him wildly, clawing the air, and feeling for his small, defenseless body. He had promised himself, never again!  Never again would he allow himself to feel so powerless, so out of control. He would always be the one deciding his own fate, without fail.

 

But the ground was falling out from under his small feet now, the darkness swallowing him whole. All the while, he couldn’t seem to get his father’s scream from echoing around his skull. They had the same face, after all. The same exact face. How could he escape this?

 

Without warning, Tom felt a hand on his own, taking it firmly, but not angrily or violently as he had expected. The electric tingle of the awakening draught shocked his entire body and caused him to sputter slightly with its cool intensity as he speedily came to.

 

Blinking blearily for a moment, the room came into focus after a beat. Tom looked at Harry, then up to the dazed looking, squat fellow standing poised above him, then back to Harry once again and then the hand holding his own firmly in place. Either Harry was about to perform some ungodly ritual on him, or he was about to be violated. Or both, he reflected, his stomach churning in anger and dread.

 

“Harry,” Tom said gently. “If you felt this way about me, you should have let me know. Customarily, you would _at least_ take me out to dinner first…” He finished with a touch of biting sarcasm that offset the coldness of his glare wonderfully.

 

Xx

 

Harry’s mouth fell open to accommodate a retort (or because he was surprised, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge that). He wasn’t really used to _that_ sort of insinuation being made to mock him; neither Draco Malfoy nor Dudley would have ever suggested Harry was interested in them. It would have been more embarrassing for them than it would have been for him, but it didn’t appear to bother Tom in the least.

 

“Shaking hands must be a real event for you if that’s what you think this is,” he eventually said, and he was pleased to note that his voice was cool and smooth.

 

His grip tightened. He then withdrew his wand, reaching across to Tom so he could set the tip against his jugular. Tom needed to feel intimidated for this to work.

 

“We’re about to perform the Unbreakable Vow. The only thing you need to say is ‘I will’. If you refuse, you’ll meet the results of breaking the Unbreakable Vow a lot quicker than you would have had you agreed.” Harry gaze was unwavering. The fire had gone out in his absence and the room was now beginning to cool. “Tom Marvolo Riddle, will you promise me that you will never make a Horcrux?”

 

Xx

 

Tom smirked, satisfaction quite clear on his face at having thrown Harry off, even for just a fraction of a second. To be in a position anything less than absolute power and control had been eating away at him ever since he had been confined to his seat, so just the implication of knocking Harry down a peg was something he was more than willing to give a shot for. “Shaking hands with the only who’s forcing their will upon me is quite a different event than normal.” Tom replied in mock politeness, his voice venomous with disdain.

This, of course, didn’t seem to please Harry. The other man’s grip tightened and Tom found himself all too aware of sensation of the tip of his wand pressed firmly against Tom’s neck. Instinctively, Tom kept his outward composure. He locked eyes with Harry’s own brilliant green ones, answering his fiery, unwavering gaze with one of supreme annoyance, as though Harry were interrupting his usual midday stroll to murder his surviving family members. He could have kept that act going indefinitely.

 

But then, Harry mentioned Horcruxes.

 

Tom’s eyes shot open as he instinctively tried to jerk his hand away. For the hundredth time that night (or morning?), he found himself wondering how Harry knew what he had been thinking, how he was so dead on when it came to Tom’s intentions. He hadn’t told a soul about his plans, and he certainly had not discussed immortality with anyone who wasn’t absolutely necessary for his gathering of information and possible methods. Harry seemed to know his hand before he even had a chance to completely form it.

 

It was horrifying. The tip of that wand seemed to press even harder now that Harry revealed exactly what he intended for Tom to vow to. He might have played off the comment in innocent confusion had he not been shocked into a reaction, but what good would that have ended up doing aside from buying him time? His eyes narrowed dangerously.

“What are you playing at, Harry? You really intend on forcing me to succumb to your will?”

 

Xx

 

Harry kept his expression hard, his eyes trained on Tom. Everything about him conveyed intent to harm. He knew Tom was terrified of death. He was sure, given the ultimatum of compliance or death, he would sooner choose compliance than face the unknown. This was the man who had split his soul into seven (or eight, if Harry counted himself) to avoid the inevitability of death, after all.

 

“The alternative is killing you. And I will if you don’t make the vow.” He gave Tom’s hand another squeeze. “You’d be better off dead than living out the life you eventually make for yourself.

The man on their left stepped forward at Harry’s direction, placing the tip of his wand against their hands.

 

“Let’s give this one more try.” He drew in a long breath to expand his lungs as far as they would go, mentally preparing himself. He had used every unforgivable curse except the one that had affected his life so profoundly, and if he was wrong about Tom, and Tom would rather die than succumb to Harry’s wishes (which was very unlikely, he reassured himself), then he would need to utter it with the conviction necessary to take a life. If he faltered halfway through he wasn’t sure he’d be able to finish it.

 

Despite everything he had been through and everything he had done, taking a life – no matter the intentions – would never come easy to him.

After a heavy exhale, Harry repeated himself. “Tom Marvolo Riddle, will you promise me that you will never make a Horcrux?”

 

Xx

 

Tom’s mind was buzzing with activity, but his expression was frozen in an unreadable state of shock.  Harry looked serious, _dead_ serious. His intentions were all too clear by the grim concentration displayed on his face. Even aside from that, there was a terrible and heavy weight behind his thoughts that only led to one conclusion.

 

Tom felt Harry’s grip tighten on the wand which was held to his throat. In his life, he had been pitted against the threat of bombs overhead, of abuse behind the thin walls of his orphanage room, of countless people who considered him a demon child for his unlikely abilities. His grandfather’s stony glare surfaced in his mind. But at this moment, he had never felt closer to the threat of death.

 

The thoughts were a half formed buzz and he shut his eyes tightly, willing them to form some sort of order, any sort of semblance of an answer to this terrible fate. _‘Reason with him’, ‘Charm him’, ‘Scare him’, ‘Lie to him’, ‘Seduce him’. Anything to get him to stop this madness._

 

The moment wore on. That deadly sense of purpose in Harry’s eyes did not waver.  If anything, it seemed to grow even stronger. Tom was all too aware of the furious pounding of his heart.  It seemed to drum behind his ears as though trying to escape before the final breath.

 

It couldn’t end this way.  He couldn’t let it.  Not like his mother. “Harry, I-” _Seduce him, charm him, scare him, control him, convince him!_ But those green eyes did not waver and that wand tip felt all too hot against his jugular. Harry left no opening for escape. He meant to see Tom dead, one way or another.  

 

“I will.” Tom sighed softly, sounding small and unsure for the first time since he was a mere child.

 

Xx

 

A shimmering string of red rose from their bonder’s wand and coiled itself around their hands, warm on their skin. It thrummed with an arcane power. Harry paused before he continued, taking a moment to consider his next words. He didn’t want to make too many vows with too many stipulations or Tom might accidentally end up dead; he needed to be straightforward and concise.

 

“Will you promise me not to kill anyone, indirectly or otherwise? Unless, of course, someone is actively making an attempt on your own life.”

A little redundant considering he’d already asked Tom not to make Horcrux’s, but this would ensure Tom wouldn’t be able to use others – his followers, creatures – to take a life. The basilisk would be useless to him.

 

Xx

 

Precious little was known of Unbreakable Vows, and what small amount had been gleaned, was usually for the use of matrimony. That was what Tom had read before, that was what he had studied and those were the facts that were currently not helping him in the slightest. All that was overwhelmingly clear was that no matter what he did, he could not break his word without dying as a consequence. This was only of the only aspects of the ‘ceremony’ that made itself all too clear.

 

He could never make a Horcrux.  He would never be immortal.

 

Death seemed all too present as a chilled sensation ran down his back, branching off all the way to his fingertips. The room was cold, his thoughts went cold and Harry’s brilliant green eyes were frigid. He fought to keep his breath even, to keep himself calm in the wake of this nightmare, but all he could comprehend in this state was the will to survive. The thirst for life was overtaking his sense, his hatred for his captor overtaking his fear.

 

He wanted to kill Harry. Not just kill, make him feel pain like he had never felt before in his life. He wanted to shatter him so badly he could almost taste the copper metallic of blood on his tongue. So, he knew about Tom’s father? He knew about the basilisk? He seemed to know about _every damn little thing_.

 

“Do you think I’m a demon?” He whispered, the red glow of the first vow flickering in his eyes. “Just like the rest?  My very birth brought death, Harry, but certainly you _already_ know that. Do you really think death doesn’t ghost my every step?” He gave a soft, mad little laugh.

 

“Will you make my death messy like my mother’s? Will they tell grand stories of how you destroyed me? Will you tell my father so he can finally be relieved that his _bastard_ is gone?"

 

Xx

 

Harry wished he wasn’t such an expressive person. Though he tried to remain impassive, his eyes twitched away and his shoulders became a tense line; the way Tom laughed and spoke was too reminiscent of Voldemort for him to remain unaffected.

 

“You are in the future, but I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t think I could prevent that. I don’t want to have to kill you.” His gaze flicked back to Tom’s and his face was a series of weary lines as he re-considered the vow. Tom was right. He’d overlooked the possibility Tom would inadvertently cause death, and if that happened, Tom would die as well. It was an unlikely scenario, but he would adjust the vow to reflect Tom’s concerns just to make sure Tom felt secure enough to continue.

“Tom, just… do this. I’m giving you a chance to live. If you let me I think I’ll be able to help you. If not…” He shrugged, pressing his wand a little further into Tom’s neck to remind him of his precarious situation. “Well, we’ll just have to suffer each other’s company until we grow old and tired of fighting.”

 

He wasn’t looking forward to that. He was sure Tom would do everything within his power to make Harry regret forcing this life upon him.

 

“Will you promise me not to kill anyone? Unless, of course, you do it inadvertently-” He snorted a little. It didn’t seem very likely. “Or because someone is actively trying to kill you. Intent is important here.”

 

Xx

 

Tom could have laughed in his face, but he bit back the bitter, angry sensation just like he had the rest of his emotions (though he was still grappling with the fear). Harry was giving him a chance to live, was he?  By forcing death upon him eventually, by ensuring that he could never achieve immortality? Tom was doomed now, and Harry knew it. Perhaps he even enjoyed knowing it, though Tom was having one hell of a time being able to tell from the tenseness of his upper body and the way those brilliant eyes twitched behind the dirty panes of his spectacles.

 

Harry was clearly upset.  He was doing a terrible job of hiding it. Tom’s words had effected Harry on a deep level, but in a way which he had not expected. They certainly didn’t seem to deter the tip of that wand that was pressing into his neck. Tom didn’t react, though his pulse thundered behind his ears.

 

_Breathe deeply. Act calmly. Think logically._

 

His mind was a buzz of furious thoughts. It just did not make any sense to him. Harry was trying to ‘help’? It was all too confusing, too open ended, and all his mind could concentrate on where possible loopholes.

 

 _‘…because someone is actively trying to kill you.’_ Intent to kill certainly sounded a great deal like what Harry was doing right now as they spoke, dooming him to eventual death in some way. Tom’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Perhaps that would give him the possibility of killing Harry and escaping this hellish nightmare finally. And, if that were the case, could he possibly keep a vow with a dead man?  Perhaps this foolish agreement would be then broken once Harry got his just reward for his _heroism_.

 

“I will.” Tom had to concentrate hard to keep his hand from shaking. He didn’t entirely succeed.

 

Xx

 

Harry didn’t have enough skill in legilimency to gain insight into Tom’s mind, but the superficial things – the barely restrained anger, for example – were so intense as to almost be palpable. He was glad they weren’t connected by his scar anymore. That kind of anger would have given him a splitting headache. The tension alone was making his temples throb, and his scar always prickled, just a little, when he was stressed, but it wasn’t the same prickling he had experienced in his youth.

 

A second coil of brilliant fire encircled their hands. He felt a barely perceptible tremor run the length of Tom’s arm and pretended not to notice.

 

With the most important vows over and done with, Harry was finally starting to relax. Even if they were to stop now it would nigh impossible for Tom to become Lord Voldemort with his current boundaries.

 

“I only have one more,” he told Tom. This was, quite possibly, the one Tom would hate the most. “Will you stay with me until I either give you permission to relocate or dismiss you? And If I dismiss you, will you return when called within – let’s say… an hour? If circumstances separate us, that won’t be considered breaking your vow, and I’ll put something in place to tell you when you’re in danger of straying too far.”

 

A mark, just like the marks Voldemort had inflicted on his followers. Maybe he’d make it a lightning bolt.

 

Xx

 

Tom’s stomach turned to ice and he felt caught between the urge to laugh and scream all at the same time. Harry’s last request was not only mad, it seemed almost entirely random. He would have thought from the sequence of events up until this moment, Harry would have simply made him vow to never eat or drink again or something, which would ensure his demise rather soon without the emotional consequences of casting the curse. It was all so confusing with this Harry fellow. The more he tried to add things together, the less they seem to align. One moment, he seemed to care, the next he was staring back into the eyes of a cold, hard warrior, ready to cut his throat without second glance.

 

Tom closed his eyes, breathing deeply to keep himself from gritting his teeth. This didn’t stop his jaw from clenching angrily as his mind worked quickly; fruitlessly, but quickly.

 

“This is ridiculous.” Tom hissed, fighting to keep his voice level, his anger in check, but it burned in his chest and tasted disgusting like bile on his tongue. The sheer injustice of it all made him want to strangle Harry all over again. “Am I to be with you every single second of every single day? For one, how would we even manage to bathe? And of our sleeping arrangement? Am I to attend to you like a servant? This must be some kind of joke.” Tom tried to keep the underlying fear from his voice. Harry had the power and the weapon. If this did end up being some sort of twisted fetish, Tom wouldn’t have the ability to stop him.

 

“You obviously hate me, Harry.”  Tom continued imploringly, clenching his hand now to keep it from shaking, no longer really keeping track if he succeeded or not. “And you wish I was dead, that much is clear. If you would just challenge me to a duel, you could have your chance at killing me fairly, no emotional strings or dishonorable ‘vows’ attached. You seem a fair fighter. Why not see reason and just challenge me like a true warrior instead of hiding behind idiotic rules?”

 

His mind already had an answer to his question though. _He wants to see you suffer. He wants to use you, every inch of you, before he destroys you. He wants to see you squirm and crawl like a filthy animal._

 

Xx

 

Harry made an effort not to roll his eyes. He didn’t want to give Riddle more reason to be pissed off, even if he was being a melodramatic little snot. Granted, being melodramatic in this situation was understandable, and Harry couldn’t deny his biases. Tom Riddle in this universe had yet to do anything to earn his ire, but Harry associated him with Voldemort and all the awful things Voldemort had done to him. It was hard not to let his experiences colour his behaviour.

 

Harry sighed. He would try for some patience. “I’m not going to treat you like a house elf if that’s what you’re thinking. I can set your boundaries. I can let you go places. Eventually I’ll let you return to school to finish your last year.” If he could help it, he didn’t want to deprive Tom of his education. They still had the rest of summer to work on developing an amicable relationship and curbing his interest in the dark arts.

 

“I don’t… okay, I hate you little. Not you, really; what you became. Anyone else would have just killed you by now, and I won’t pretend that didn’t cross my mind. You – you in the future, that is – took everything from me.” His knuckles were white. He hadn’t noticed he’d tightened his grip on his wand. Loosening it, he continued. “But I’m not here to return the favor. I really do want to help you. I’m not going to let – _him_ stop me from giving you a better life than one you spend in a diary, or as a monster.”

 

The wand had resumed its prod into Tom’s jugular. He needed Tom to know he wanted to do what was right, but was willing to do what was _necessary_ if Tom refused to cooperate. No matter what, he wasn’t going to let himself deviate from his task. “Accept the vow, Tom. Believe it or not, I don’t want the solution here to be your death.”

 

Xx

 

Tom fell deathly silent, his eyes focusing on Harry as the other man spoke, stray pieces of his thoughts finally falling into place. One aspect of Harry’s story seemed to fill in so many questions and create so many more along with it. _Harry was from the future._ Tom’s mouth tightened into a thin line as he bit back the immediate questions that rushed in after the shock of the realization.  He knew what happened to Tom after this moment, knew how he and his followers moved from being simply students with ideas of grandeur to actually making his dreams a reality. Harry’s otherworldly knowledge of Tom’s past and instincts all seemed to make sense now.

 

And yet, it opened up the possibility for so many more questions. Where did Tom go from here? Had his father been killed and the secret of his bloodline safely kept away from prying eyes and the powerful elitists that he hoped to use in his favor? And even aside from that, the comment about his diary and being locked away in it took him off guard. Tom had not even thought of creating something from his old diary, but for Harry, that object seemed to hold even more power and hatred than anything, except maybe that _monster_ he spoke of. So many new possibilities opened, innumerable paths that could have led to them as well, but one comment seemed to stick in Tom’s mind more than others.

 

 _You took everything from me_. It all seemed to come full circle. His father squirming and screaming to get away from him, his Uncle scoffing and jeering at his obvious bloodline and now, Harry’s look of vile distrust and contempt as he pressed that wand further and further into his neck as though he would have liked nothing more than to forego magic entirely and just stab him with it.

Tom could not hope for mercy here. Whatever he would do in the future had already colored what Harry would do to him now in the past, Tom’s present. And yet, there were fleeting moments of clarity in which Harry actually seemed as though he may think he was helping in some way, shape or form.

 

How much help could Tom expect from a mad man though?

 

There was one final fear that refused to be silenced, the lingering fear defenseless boy with a survivalist mentality, raised in an orphanage in a time of war. It was the fear of a neglected, angry child that slipped through the cracks when Tom was too busy thinking of the future to realize that the past was still so staggeringly present. “You swear you won’t disrespect me? You won’t take away my sense of agency?” His voice was a tired whisper as he looked down at his clenched fist. His fingernails bit at the skin of his palm before he realized what he had said. His eyes snapped back up to Harry, almost as though accusing him of drawing the words right out of his mouth. As though it were entirely Harry’s fault he had to resort to them.

 

Xx

 

Even if he tried to take away Tom’s agency, he couldn’t imagine succeeding. The boy was resourceful and stubborn. He wasn’t going to take anything Harry did sitting down. Moreover, there was no vow in place to prevent him from being a relatively _normal_ schoolboy, and Harry wasn’t going to deny him the comforts he had become accustomed to at Hogwarts. After all, Tom had already experienced severe deprivation throughout his childhood and look at how that had turned out.

“I can’t control how you feel. You’ll probably feel like I’m doing both those things even if I’m not trying to.” He lifted a shoulder in a shrug, wand jostling in his grip. He really did want to help Tom. He was sure with a little (or a lot) of guidance Tom could be a better man, because he knew despite all his bravado and anger that everything about Tom was shaped by neglect and isolation and an intense, _intense_ fear.

 

He wet his lips before he continued, his thoughts drifting briefly to the bathtub upstairs. He was sure Riddle would find his company more agreeable if he didn’t smell and look homeless. A quick bath would do them both some good. But first…

 

“But I’m not going to _try_ to do either of those things,” he stated firmly. “Like I’ve said, I don’t know – five times now? I want to help you. Helping you doesn’t involve making you miserable. If anything, it involves making _me_ miserable.” Trying to be a mentor to Tom Riddle wasn’t exactly what Harry would call fun and games. It was going to be hell to get even a modicum of respect out of him. “Now, I’m going to repeat the vow. Accept it this time, alright? Because it’s a rather long one and I really don’t fancy repeating it three times.

 

“Tom, will you stay with me until I either dismiss you or give you permission to relocate? And If I dismiss you, will you return when called within an hour? It won’t be considered breaking your vow if unforeseen circumstances separate us, and I’ll put something in place to tell you when you’re in danger of straying too far.”

 

Xx

 

Tom let out a slow, meaningful sigh of relief. If Harry had meant to take away his right to consent, some sort of trigger would have shown as such in his mind up until this point in their conversation. Everything seemed strikingly genuine with Harry. It was an aspect that, despite his inward panic, Tom found to be remarkably comforting.  It was almost as though he had nothing to hide from Tom, but even his preliminary training in the reading of minds was enough to show that there were underlying currents to which Harry was keeping secrets. That could only be expected though; each and every individual had secrets to unlock. Whether or not they were willing to part with them, or even knew about them, was quite another story.

 

_Don’t forget that hateful look in his eyes. He wants you to suffer. He’ll enjoy watching you squirm. He’d love to help lower you straight into your grave._

 

Tom’s head began to ache now, the revelations of the past few hours hanging heavily upon him, as though weighing him down by his temples. He wished his thoughts would just move more slowly so he could get a grasp on where these half-formed plans were going, but everything seemed to be an array of lunacy. His knowledge of his mother’s death blended with his uncle’s laughter. Harry’s hateful glare was superimposed on his father’s horrified scream. He could almost forget the dull-eyed, controlled wizard standing above them and even the ropes that bound him up because the mention of his Diary and the Monster had consumed his thoughts completely.

 

What did that even mean? What had Tom ended up taking from Harry? How much of this future did Harry hope to change, and was it even possible? He was getting absolutely nowhere asking himself. Perhaps he was just wasting precious time that he could be spending trying to escape somehow. _Or kill Harry, perhaps._ Whichever came first.

 

“I will.” Tom finally answered, feeling as grave as he sounded. He fixed Harry with an unreadable stare, entirely unsure of what was to come next, now that he seemed to have promised away his plans and his power. His rage was simmering beneath the surface, but it would do him no good to let off any boiling anger yet. Not when the future had so much promise of quality time.

 

Xx

 

The last strand of fire wrapped like a viper around their wrists, eliciting a sigh from Harry. Like Tom’s, it was deep and meaningful, and the tension that had lifted his shoulders into a straight line gradually began to recede. With no anxiety broiling beneath the surface he seemed like an entirely different person, smiling as the magic of the vow pulsed through him. This was the first thing that had gone right for him in a _very_ long time. After this success he thought he deserved a nice long bath.

 

“Well, you did, uh. Good.” He felt obligated to offer Tom some form of praise. That’s what guardians were supposed to do. “You can wash your hand in the kitchen sink in a minute if you want. I know I would. I haven’t bathed in ages.” Clearing his throat, he turned to his companion – the ugly, hunched figure beside them – and obliviated the last hour from his mind. With the imperious curse still in place, the man walked straight up to the door, stepped out, and apperated away with a sound like a gunshot.

 

That left him and Tom alone once more.

 

“I’ll let you gather your bearings before we continue our discussion,” he said as he stood, his hand still tight around Tom’s. Almost as an afterthought, he set the end of his wand against Tom’s arm, just below the junction of his elbow. The spell he murmured seemed to be a combination of sectumsempra – a spell Tom wouldn’t recognize due to it having been conceived by Snape – and an incantation easily associated with the Unbreakable Vow, and a series of spells that didn’t sound as though they should have been interwoven at all. The result was a little blue lightning bolt on Tom’s forearm that wouldn’t pain him as the dark mark did Voldemort’s followers, but would give the surrounding veins the sensation of being filled with tepid water if he wandered too far. It’d be enough to get his attention, enough to make him uncomfortable, but not enough to cause him any anguish.

 

Once done, Harry took several steps back before removing Tom’s restraints with a flick of his wand. They turned back into a colourful series of dish cloths that tumbled their way into Tom’s lap.

“Don’t try to leave the house. I don’t really want you to get yourself killed before we’ve even had the chance to have a proper talk. I’ll be back downstairs in about thirty minutes.” That should give Tom enough time to recuperate and test his boundaries, toeing at them until he was forced to concede to his imprisonment. There was no way for him to escape, but Harry would let him come to that conclusion on his own. “Have some water and something to eat.” With that said, he turned to walk upstairs, keeping his wand at the ready in case Tom attempted another assault. There was still blood beneath his nose, dried and flaking.

 

Xx

 

Tom watched the third and final glowing string snake its way around their hands as he might have watched a train wreck, with grim acceptance and blind, powerless anger. He had promised himself, all those years ago, that he would never allow his own future to be taken out of his hands, that he would always have power and control, even at the cost of those around him. He had promised himself he would survive, and now, he had nearly thrown all of that away in the course of a few hours.

 

He stayed carefully silent as he watched Harry slowly withdraw his hand and then attend to the lingering problem of the ugly man overseeing their vows, clearly still in the throes of the imperious curse. After that was neatly accomplished, Harry turned to him once again and in a frozen moment, he looked up and tried not to dwell on the fact that Harry had his wand, his power, and all of the control, not to mention a great deal of skill to put that control to use.

 

Tom was hardly breathing. Harry didn’t need to inflict death to make him suffer. He placed the tip of his wand right below Tom’s elbow joint and Tom was forced, once again, to keep himself from shaking. Would he cut his arm off?  Was that the way that this little game of Harry’s began? Yet, the only visible change seemed to be a tingling, unpleasant sensation which erupted right at the spot that Harry pointing. The words which he was speaking were disjointed, fragmented, and rather unbecoming but the result was something which Tom could have never expected. It was a small, lightning bolt shaped mark, bluish in nature as though it were a discolored old scar.

 

The other man seemed to visibly relax before him, as though a small weight had been lifted from his shoulders in the span of just a few moments. Tom watched his composure ebb to something far more casual as he explained that he should not leave the house, and should most likely consider washing that hand of his. Tom glanced down at his arm and grimaced at the smears of dirt left by Harry’s fingers, or the red marks which would surely turn to bruises rather speedily on his pale skin. Something in the back of his mind told him that a shower would be rather nice. The offer of food and water even better, seeing as the last time he could have remembered eating anything was yesterday, and his throat burned with dryness.

 

His overseer gave him one final, prolonged look before making his way upstairs. Tom waited. One minute passed, then three. A full five minutes after Harry had retreated, Tom reasoned that now was the time to take a chance at checking his surroundings while he was still alone. The house was reasonably well furnished. These non-magical folk were well off enough to be able to afford a radio, and had several chairs set around the living room to accommodate for those who wanted to listen together. The windows had been painted black, as demanded by the currently wartime efforts, to prevent light from escaping at night to attract a German aerial attack, but the paint seemed aged and weathered to the point of graying. How long had these muggles been gone, anyway?

 

Tom wandered into the conservatively sized kitchen. He marveled at the fact that this place had managed to have anything akin to produce as he took note of several tomatoes and peppers arranged neatly on the counter. A few meager portions of meat in the fridge spoke to the fact that the house belonged to a couple, no children. There was no way that a family could be fed with that small of an amount. He could have cried out for joy when he finally opened up the drawers and found exactly what he was looking for.

 

Knives.

 

He had no intention of attacking Harry _quite yet_ , but there was no reason as to why he shouldn’t be looking to defend himself if the time came. There was also no guarantee that Harry wouldn’t change his mind and decide that Tom’s life was best forfeit. He took one rather small, yet sharp, unassuming paring knife and wrapped it in cloth before storing it quickly in his pocket. Looking around once again, he spotted the normal ration of tasteless white bread allotted to two people, sitting on the counter next to the vegetables.

 

He should be hungry. He should want to eat it. He needed to survive. All he could comprehend in that moment was how overwhelmingly angry he was. The rage burned at him, scorching his mind, his stomach, his throat, his thoughts. If only he had not been distracted by his damned, screaming father! If only he had his wits about him enough to prevent Harry’s ambush! Damn it all! Damn it! “DAMN IT ALL!” He shrieked finally.

 

The bread was rendered into a burnt, smoldering, stinking crisp. Wand or no wand, Tom’s magic would find any outlet it could. He groaned, feeling his head lurch, his headache returning as he stepped quickly to the sink to wash his hands and then drink. Without warning, the light bulb over his head exploded. Tom groaned a curse. He hadn’t caused this much havoc unintentionally since he was seven.

 

Xx

 

There were a lot of things Hogwarts neglected to teach its students. Muggle history, for example. It was only as Harry settled into a large, but _extremely_ old bath tub that he thought about _when_ he was. 1943. He didn’t know much about 1943 (his primary school education had only covered basic history), but he vaguely recalled World War 2 hadn’t ended until ’45. Come to think of it, that For Sale sign had looked _very_ old. Weather-worn and peeling around the edges. Perhaps this house had been put on the market prior to the London bombings and remained there despite the family’s absence because they couldn’t risk returning. Or perhaps they couldn’t return at all because they were…

 

East London had been a hot spot for bombs, hadn’t it? And they were in _Surrey_ . Harry couldn’t say he was terribly scared of getting caught in a raid, though; he was a wizard after all. If any danger reared its head he’d just apparate himself and Tom to safety. Maybe to a distant beach or Hogsmeade. It was only the muggles that need fear the terror of the bombs, which was a thought that immediately made Harry’s stomach twist with something akin to guilt; he didn’t like to think wizards had means of protecting themselves from the carnage and refused to share it with the muggles for the sake of remaining hidden. But Harry didn’t need _another_ war burdening his conscience, so the thought - or realization, rather - was quickly discarded in favor examining his surroundings.

 

The house they were occupying must have been owned by a wealthy family because they had pipes that ran hot water, a ceramic bath and sink, an additional room for the toilet, a wide range of hygiene products, and a mirror with a beautifully painted frame; luxuries he imagined most other families would be hard pressed to afford. He supposed their wealth was what had enabled them to move out in the first place. Most other people didn’t have the money to relocate. They had to remain and risk the bombs.

 

God, he couldn’t stop thinking about the bombs now that he’d started. Cursing under his breath, Harry picked up a sponge and started to scrub every inch of his dirt-caked skin clean. The bombs still lingered at the back of his mind, but at least now he had a task to take the edge off the unease he was feeling.

 

The water was brown by the time he was finished. Before evacuating the water, he took up a straight razor and cut his neglected beard down to a fine stubble. He ended up cutting himself several times on his jaw, neck, and cheek, dotting the brown water with red, but it felt nice to have a clear face once he was done. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had access to a razor.

 

He decided to leave his clothes in a pile on the floor, tying a towel tight around his waist and stealing his way into the main bedroom while still dripping wet. There weren’t many clothes in the drawers and they were all a little big on him, but he found black slacks and a dress shirt that would be good enough for a temporary ensemble. Better than what he’d been forced to wear at the Dursley’s, in any case. Before putting his robe back on, he performed some basic cleaning spells in an effort to make it more presentable. His hair was, as always, an absolutely mess, and he didn’t even bother trying to comb it before descending the steps and walking through to the kitchen.

 

“Sorry, that might’ve been a little longer than thirty mi-“Upon noticing the burnt bread and burst light bulb, Harry fell silent, examining the rest of the room for additional damage. It didn’t look like Tom had broken anything else.

 

Returning his gaze to Tom, he frowned. “Try not to reduce too much of our food to ash. We need that for ‘not starving’ purposes.”

 

Xx

 

What the hell…?

 

Tom had not been expecting this. Tom had heard footsteps on the staircase, and upon snapping his attention up he was greeted with a completely unexpected sight. The man, shorter than Tom by a little less than half a foot, was shaven and looked scrubbed and fresh. His large clothes hung loosely around his well-built form. His messy black hair seemed to give him a devil-may-care attitude as he greeted Tom with a displeased frown. Tom was certain that the burnt bread was doing nothing to calm his companion. But frankly, Tom had a bit of trouble comprehending the entirety of it.

 

“You’re short!” Tom observed, looking confused. “And young. And winsome.” It might have been a compliment coming from anyone else. If anything, Tom’s pale features just seemed rather confused, as though Harry had pulled off a mask to reveal he was someone completely different entirely. It was hardly the same person, and the difference between night and day. The Harry that had walked up those stairs had been a grungy, angry homeless vagrant. The Harry that walked down was adorably casual, yet barely older than his school years, still rather angry though. Somehow the threatening nature of the homeless man seemed to make him seem even more imposing and tall. It was a small comfort to see him more humanized.

 

With a disgruntled huff, Tom stared down at the smoldering loaf of tasteless bread. Frankly, he might have done them a favor. Harry had no idea what bread rations tasted like, so he wouldn’t be privy to the knowledge that charcoal or sawdust was a comparable alternative.

 

“I’m going to bathe. Do not follow me.” He ordered rather forcefully, knowing full well the lack of power he had over Harry, but insisting all the same that he make his intentions clear. “Or is _that_ forbidden for me as well?” He continued, snide and caustic as he stepped quickly out of the kitchen without giving his counterpart a chance to answer, past Harry and for the stairs.

 

The bathroom was, indeed, rather luxurious and well stocked. Tom would have revelled in the fact that he had a choice of different soaps and fragrances, and perhaps he would have even felt entitled to it, but within this moment he hardly noticed. After he entered, locked the door, he looked longingly at the blacked out window, as though entertaining a stray thought to jump out of it before his body began to move mechanically through the motions.

 

He disrobed, washed, scrubbed, dried, and re-clothed himself with the clothing from across the hallway, just as Harry had apparently done. The length of the garments was just right, but the waist was quite a bit larger than he had expected, but he would certainly make it work. He could have charmed his clothing clean once again, but he lacked his wand. He felt so very naked without it, truth be told, that he would have done anything to have it back, even if he could not use it to completely free himself. After finding a plain wooden comb on the female occupant’s dresser, he slicked back wet hair and took a moment to look in the mirror.

 

His father’s face stared back at him, screaming.

Tom’s stomach clenched dangerously and nausea gripped him. He dashed back to the bathroom, barely having time enough to slam the door shut behind him as he doubled over the toilet, retching as stomach acid and bile poured from his mouth in repulsive heaves. His already empty stomach insisted on turning itself inside out. All the while, his father lingering in his memory as he clutched the seat to keep himself steady, coughing, panting, yet trying to keep as silent as possible. He could not afford to let Harry hear him.

 

_Harry couldn’t know he was this weak. Harry wanted him to suffer and die. He couldn’t afford to let him know…_

 

When the horrifying episode was finally over, Tom was left quivering and panting, his stomach numb and empty and his mind heavy and leaden. After spitting, and flushing, he carefully made his way to the sink to scrub his face once again and brush his teeth (the family was even wealthy enough to have toothpaste! Imagine that!) He gripped the porcelain edges of the sink, bracing himself to look up at the mirror.

 

His own tired eyes stared back at him, set into a somewhat exhausted, extremely pale, yet strikingly handsome face, framed with soft black hair. Tom straightened to his full height, taking several deep breaths, gradually gaining back his composure. He hoped against hope that Harry hadn’t heard that shameful display, that he didn’t know exactly how Tom’s weakness was seeping through his control at inopportune moments. He finally made his way out of the bathroom and downstairs once again.

 

Xx

 

Harry was so taken aback he didn’t know which part of Tom’s outburst to address first. With bagged eyes, messy hair, and a thin layer of peach fuzz, Harry had to wonder if Tom actually knew the definition of winsome. And short – he wasn’t _short_! Just because Tom was obnoxiously tall didn’t mean Harry was short; he was almost the same height as his father, and his father had been one of the tallest among the marauders.

Besides, not many people could boast being taller than Tom Riddle, who had been blessed with a height that facilitated harassing those he considered lesser than him (i.e. everyone) by looming over them.  

 

He folded his arms over his chest, opening his mouth to reply, but before he could utter a single word Tom had pushed past him and ascended the stairs. Harry didn’t even have the time to _consider_ stopping him. As he watched the ends of Tom’s robes disappear from sight, he was glad he’d never had the opportunity – and would never have the opportunity to pursue a career that required skills in supervision. He would’ve been bloody terrible at it.

 

Pushing his damp hair out of his eyes, Harry decided to start cooking dinner. A pot of beef stew ought to last them a day or two. Having subsisted on stew for the last several months, he’d become very adept at making them. He’d often made them for the Dursley’s as well, usually during winter. Needless to say, his portion of the stew had always been pitiful, and that was if he’d earned the right to eat anything at all, but it was still a meal he associated with warmth and a full belly.

 

He was sure Tom would have been disgusted to see him cooking the muggle way, hunched over the counter with a knife and a chopping board and no wand in sight. He was so used to cooking without magic that he scarcely ever bothered to use it. If he did, he probably would have screwed it up somehow, anyway. Sent the beef slamming into the wall or something. He couldn’t risk slamming the beef into the wall because it was the only beef they had and he was pretty sure Tom wouldn’t consent to consuming sullied meat.

 

He was in the process of throwing the aforementioned meat into a boiling pot of stock and water when he heard a great _slam_ of – a door? A person? Startled, Harry almost smacked his elbow into the cooker, managing to stop himself just before impact. A cube of beef fell out of his hand and onto the kitchen floor. He ignored it, hurrying up the stairs to make sure Tom’s magic hadn’t gone haywire again and broken something.

He was greeted by the sound of retching.

 

 _Oh_.

 

Harry stood there for a moment, listening, but he knew better than to intervene. Offering help would only serve to embarrass the boy. Tom had a lot of pride, and Harry had inflicted enough damage to it for one evening. He returned to the kitchen and resumed cooking, giving no indication he had eavesdropped on Tom’s breakdown. He did, however, pour Tom a glass of water and set it on the counter along with an apple.

 

“Dinner won’t be ready for a while.”

 

Xx

 

The aroma of gently simmering broth filled the air in the kitchen as Tom walked in, finding Harry at the stove, stirring what could only be a stew with the casual air of someone who was rather adapt at cooking. Judging by the look of the knife and cutting board and knife on the counter, he obviously had done most of the work (if not all of it) manually. His heart skipped a beat when he realized that he had left his own weapon in the bathroom upstairs with his dirty clothes. He inwardly cursed his sickness for distracting from what truly had mattered, his survival. There was no running back up there now that Harry had obviously noticed him, but he could not afford any more slip ups. If anything, Harry could be planning on spilling some sort of potion into their meal right as he stirred. Veritasium? Or maybe worse, Amortentia?  He would have to make sure to note any drastic changes in the scent. The last thing he needed was to lose his body as well as his mind.

 

His stomach gave a rather unsettled turn at the alluring smell of meat slowly stewing away whatever vegetables Harry had managed to find within the kitchen. Harry was certainly easier to look at this way. He looked far less threatening than he had before his washing, but Tom couldn’t let that distract him from the fact that this powerful individual had literally stolen away all of his goals and free will in the matter of a few precious hours, debasing him to the status of an angry child spewing out errant, wandless magic every now and then when his emotions took over in place of his mind. It was good to note that Harry did not seem confident enough in his magic to let it do the cooking for him. Then again, Tom did so little cooking magic that he doubted he could perform it suitably either. It simply was not within his normal repertoire. At the orphanage though, if one expected to eat, one had to contribute with the cooking. Mandatory survival, if you will. It made avoiding any sort of domestication all but impossible.

 

When Harry turned to greet him, he slid a glass of water and an apple in his direction. Apples, obviously good for an upset stomach. So, he knew. He knew about the episode upstairs. _He knew bloody everything, didn’t he?_

 

Tom’s eyes narrowed dangerously, yet he kept his careful composure as he sat down at the neatly small wooden table for two, looking remarkably well adjusted for someone whose life had literally just been derailed. He ignored both of the offered items in lieu of fixing Harry with a curiously innocent, pensive look.

 

“Harry, it seems that you know everything about me.” He articulated carefully, keeping his tone smooth and calm, almost comfortingly so. “I can see you’ve definitely studied me a great deal.” _And also want me to suffer and die._ “I’m far more interested in hearing about you though.” He made a small, politely unassuming gesture to his companion.

 

“Who are you? Could you tell me about yourself? Seeing as we’ll be spending some time together, I should like to know more than your first name.”

 

Xx

 

“Er, alright…” Harry hesitated. ‘Hi, I’m Harry Potter, and my life is an absolute mess’ would be a succinct way of introducing himself. He didn’t think Tom would find that amusing, though, and he wanted to have a better second impression than the catastrophe that had been his first.

He ran a hand up though his hair before he responded, somehow managing to make it even messier. “Well, my surname’s Potter.” That seemed like a good place to start. “This place is where I used to live. Sort of. I lived on this street – _would have_ lived on this street in about forty years. I’m from the future, you see.” He dropped his hand from his hair and began to slowly stir the stew. The steam was rising up in great clouds of white. “I’m not much of a time traveler though; now that I’m here I can’t go anywhere else. It was a one way journey.”

 

A pause, and then he continued.

 

“If you want to know something specific, go ahead and ask. I don’t have a lot to hide.” Which implied that he did have _some_ things to hide, but they were nothing of great consequence. Just sentimental things; things that would offer Tom no advantage. At best it was information that could be used to provoke Harry, and considering he currently had two wands in his possessions, he didn’t think Tom would want to do that.

 

Xx

 

The surname Potter sounded all too familiar. Not that he could have really chosen it out in particular, Tom felt as though he had heard many of the other ‘Sacred Twenty Eight’ members speaking of Potters from time to time. If his memory served him correctly, Henry Potter had crusaded for the rights of muggles in the Wizengamot about a decade or two ago, before he stepped down from his seat. Suitably, the Potters had been kicked out brethren of the pure blooded families because of his rather insolent ideas.

 

From a family of crusaders for the rights of muggles. Tom had a vague picture of where this was headed and why exactly Harry had targeted him. It wasn’t exactly a stretch, considering Tom’s current trajectory and his ideals. He could only assume that forty years from the present moment, his goals had not shifted too drastically. Then he had achieved them, to a certain extent?  It was hard to tell from that small amount that Harry had revealed.

 

He seemed strikingly evasive on the subject of time travel. He couldn’t quite blame him for that though. From the extent of Tom’s knowledge, Time Traveling was highly dangerous and illegal in some countries. The irreparable damage it could inflict on the Time-Space Continuum was always a looming threat, but that could also explain why it was impossible to move back to his own original time period. “It seems uncomfortable to be trapped in a completely different era. Do you miss your own time? Have you had a difficult time adjusting?” Tom asked, genuine curiosity creeping into his voice, rather than the cold, calculated variety he had been using before.

 

He paused, taking Harry’s offer into consideration before continuing with his line of questioning. “And also, it seems that you are quite trained at the use of magic. Did you attend Hogwarts, by any chance?”

 

Xx

 

Those weren’t the questions Harry had been anticipating. Having harbored a fragment of Voldemort’s soul for sixteen years, Harry liked to think he understood him almost as well as Dumbledore. But then, Tom wasn’t really Voldemort yet, was he? Not truly. Voldemort exhibited little subtly when it came to acquiring what information he wanted, while Tom was still self-aware enough not to broach certain subjects right off the bat.

 

Once again, Harry reminded himself that Tom Riddle and Voldemort weren’t the same person. Not in these circumstances, anyway.

 

“I did, yeah. Attend Hogwarts, I mean. I was in the Gryffindor house, which was either terrible or great for the Gryffindor’s depending on what I was up to that month.” He laughed quietly, mostly to himself. “I killed a guy during my first year – er, not deliberately. He tried to kill me and started falling to pieces. That pretty much set the theme for the rest of my time at Hogwarts.”

 

He reached into the spices cabinet and added a generous amount of paprika to the stew.

“Being here is actually kind of an improvement. I already mentioned that you…” A beat. “Well, not you; I only said ‘you’ before because I was upset. You and Voldemort are entirely different people. _You_ haven’t taken anything from me, but he did. It was probably his favorite hobby, killing muggle-borns and tormenting muggles aside.” Harry glanced at Tom, taking a moment to gauge his reaction. “Once the war’s over I’ll probably have a good time being here. I might even get a job so these muggles can have their house back.”

 

He would need to have some official documents forged before he did that, and he wouldn’t be able to work anywhere of significance. He couldn’t risk the Ministry noticing he was an anomaly.

 

Xx

 

_Ugh. A Gryffindor. Just when his punishment couldn’t get any better._

 

Tom’s eyes widened a fraction when Harry mentioned ‘unintentionally killing a man during his first year’. Tom had to admit that he had a rather unsteady past, filled with a good deal more violence than most, but he could have never admitted to murdering an individual at just above a decade old. He suppressed a shiver, realizing that wasn’t entirely the truth. He had unintentionally murdered his mother. The casual tone which Harry had used didn’t help the uneasy feeling that came with the thought of how much control Harry truly had over his future, and how very sure Tom was that Harry wanted him to suffer like an animal.

 

He watched as Harry added some unnamed red spice to the dish as he described how much of an improvement it was to be in this era. As he spoke of Tom’s future self, using the name which Tom prided himself so much in choosing, there seemed to be an underlying anger and hatred which Harry could not hide. To be entirely honest, he did not even seem to _want_ to hide it. Harry glanced back at him from time to time, as though trying to catch some sort of grand reaction, as though Tom were about to transform suddenly into a fanged beast and pounce at him. Almost in retaliation, Tom kept his expression calm and his tone level and smooth as he spoke.

 

“Do you have any idea why I…or rather, my future self would be so adamant about targeting you?”  He asked politely, fixing Harry with an unblinkingly focused stare.

 

“I’m glad to hear that you think that this is an improvement.” Tom gestured to their makeshift ‘home’ for the time being. “Truth be told, this is a rather wealthy household. Many of the comforts offered by this place are not universal in England at the moment, though I’m sure you know all about this history as well. I won’t bore you with the current war news.” Tom wanted to know when he could expect an end to this idiotic, muggle conflict, but he knew better than to ask directly. There was just no way that Harry would impart that information willingly. “So, when will you be getting a job then, do you think?” Tom asked casually, running his fingertips over the rim of his glass of water before fixing Harry with the same, focused stare yet again, waiting for his answer.

 

Xx

 

Harry visibly hesitated. He wasn’t sure if Tom was ready to hear about the prophecy. There was the potential he would take it to heart, _try_ something. He didn’t want to put Tom in a situation where he felt as boxed in as his elder counterpart did. But the prophecy was null and void now, wasn’t it? If there had been anything about time travel in there, it had been a very loose interpretation. What sort of lie could he tell Tom in lieu of the truth, anyway? Even at this age, Tom was a skilled legilimens. He would realize Harry was lying to him and their trust (or lack thereof) would be even more tenuous than it already was.

 

With a long-suffering sigh, he replied. “There was a prophecy about me and Voldemort. It doesn’t really matter now since the whole ‘dark lord’ business isn’t going to happen, but since you asked…” He scratched at his neck, clearly unhappy to be talking about something so personal with Tom, even if Tom had technically been one of the parties involved. “The prophecy basically said I was an unavoidable destiny, and he hated that. So he tried to kill me. Wasn’t the last time he tried to kill me, either; he did that a lot. It backfired and he ended up making me a horcrux, which led to him living as a parasite for over a decade.” His fingers darted to the scar on his forehead, brushing over the puckered flesh. “He kept trying to kill me for years. Probably would have tried a different tactic if he’d ever realized I had a part of his soul. Put me in a cage, maybe.”

The memory of Voldemort in his head, speaking to him in that high, cold voice made Harry look away from Tom, continuing to needlessly stir the stew.

 

“Anyway, point is, creating horcrux’s wasn’t all it cracked up to be, because you ended up with such a fractured soul that it could hardly sustain itself. I’m still not entirely sure why you thought it was such a good idea, honestly. In the end you were so inhuman you couldn’t even feel it when part of your soul was destroyed.” He shook his head.

“As for work, not sure yet. I haven’t even been here a week. I have plenty of money, in the meantime. I brought as much as I could carry before I left, so you won’t be deprived of anything.” He smiled to himself, amused by the idea of buying gifts for his arch-nemesis. “I don’t intend to keep you here doing nothing all day. We’ll go to Diagon Alley at some point and get you some books. Speaking of-“

 

He reached into his pocket, digging through the contents until he came upon what he was looking for. Withdrawing a book, he set it on the counter, sliding it over to Tom. The title was ‘Quintessence: A Quest’, written in bold gold lettering. It was an olive branch of sorts, much like the apple and water had been. Hopefully the allure of reading something from the future would be reason enough for Tom to take it regardless of how he felt about Harry.

 

Xx

 

Tom had obviously made a misstep. Asking about the nature of their past (his former future?) had turned the conversation tense. Harry seemed reticent to speak, let alone come up with an appropriate answer and Tom found himself regretting his decision to bring this up as early as he did. The amount of information he gleaned from his captor would depend on how comfortable Harry was with speaking to him.  He had to make Harry believe that this was somewhat of a safe space to for him to speak. Forcing him to reflect on what the future held was, apparently, not working in his favor and yet Tom had to know why all of these jarringly random events were happening to him so suddenly.  The future was an integral part to this explanation.

 

Keeping his face calm and his voice level and even was a trial. Harry was being _infuriatingly_ vague and extremely curt on the subject. There were huge holes in his ideology, and Tom had the fleetingly horrified notion that he had been kidnapped by a mad man. A skilled wizard, yes, but a complete mad man nonetheless. He swallowed his growing panic and tried to sort through the facts he had been presented. Forty years from now, there had been a prophecy which had made Harry a target of his. He then attacked Harry multiple times. One of those times had created a Horcrux by accident which had attached to Harry. Was that even possible? How did this effect Harry? Did he still feel the effects? His multiple Horcruxes had weakened his soul infinitely, yet he, er… _Voldemort_ himself was still powerful enough to attack and be formidable, and cause enough fear and caution that it would have driven Harry to find him here, in the past.

 

“That’s very interesting.” Tom commented softly, more to himself than his companion. He concentrated, and tried not to look too irate at the lack of clarity while he did so. There was a horrendous amount missing from this story, but questioning further would only set Harry on edge, and he had already taken to stirring that stew with enough vigor to tenderize the toughest meat.

 

His assurance that Tom would not really need for anything was somehow heartwarming in how genuine the offer had been, but the reflection that it was coming from a madman was a clear reminder that he needed to try to escape from Harry as soon as possible. Harry wanted him to suffer and die, he couldn’t allow himself to forget that fact. He considered Tom his enemy already and had no reason to hold back for much longer. Harry had forced him into this position, and he would do his damnedest to see Tom’s end. If his story was correct, than he had the most to gain from killing Tom. This kindness…perhaps it was to soothe his conscience later when he was cleaning off his weapon of choice.

 

The book that he slid forward could have only been described as academic. Textbook sized, with a suitable amount of heft, it looked rather mundane aside from its golden lettering and colored front, but the colors themselves were rather vivid and bright, the lettering precise and crisp, the cover only weathered about the edges from minimal use. He pulled the book closer carefully before glancing up to Harry once again, fully intending on asking about the nature of the volume before his breath hitched.

 

 _This was an obvious distraction_. Harry knew him all too well without even trying.

 

“How long have you been here? In this time, I mean? How did you find me? I told no one I would be in Little Hangleton. How do you know of my surviving family?” He continued smoothly, softly but still relentlessly, making remarkable efforts to ignore the book before him, no matter how much ‘Quintessence’ did interest him.

 

Xx

 

There was interest there, even if Tom’s reaction wasn’t the one he had sought. He would accept the book eventually, Harry was sure, but until Tom overcame his paranoia, everything Harry did would be thrown into suspicion. He couldn’t really blame him seeing as he’d kidnapped the boy; he wouldn’t have trusted himself either.

 

“Slow down, would you? I’ll answer all your questions, but it’ll be easier for me to keep a train of thought if you stick to one or two at a time.”

Harry, at last, left the stew to cook. It would be some time before it was ready for consumption. While they waited, he maneuvered himself around the counter, seating himself at the kitchen table.

 

“Right, that first one… I’ve been here about four days so far. Not long. I spent the first few days orienting myself.” He glanced at the glasses cabinet and it came open on its own accord, a glass descending to the sink. It was filled with water and floated across the room to Harry. He drained the entire glass in one go. Smacking his lips, he then provided the rest of his answer. “Those other questions are easily answered by ‘I know everything about you’. I had to know everything about you in order to defeat you. Though, I guess ‘everything’ is a bit of an overstatement. I don’t know every little facet of your personal life, I just know the important things, like your family, your upbringing, the approximate date you created each horcrux…”

 

He leaned his chin on a palm, looking deceptively calm and relaxed. This line of questioning was tricky to navigate. If he divulged too much he risked the possibility of Tom concluding that Dumbledore was responsible for Harry’s knowledge. He would tell Tom, at some point, but not today. Not this early on. If he let Tom return to school, he didn’t want him to return with a vendetta against the man.

 

“We knew a lot about each other. Granted, most people knew a lot about me because of the whole ‘surviving a killing curse’ thing, but their information was a little more superficial and embellished than yours. They didn’t have some weird – mind link to draw information out of.”

 

Xx

 

_Four days._

 

That was all it had taken Harry to get himself oriented to the turbulent time, plan his attack, track Tom down, and time himself perfectly to completely disrupt all of Tom’s plans. It was an incredible feat, but even more unbelievable due to the shortened period of time. Tom tried not to show the shock on his face, swallowing hard and tightening the grip on his glass a fraction.

Harry must have been extremely focused on finding him, hunting him down. To go so far as to travel through time to prevent the future spoke to the lengths he would go to ensure that this ‘monster’ Voldemort that he claimed Tom would become would never happen. If he had gone this far, there was no denying the fact that he would make not hesitate to kill him.

 

Tom looked up to find Harry sitting across from him at the little kitchen table, personally made just to seat two. It felt just a touch too intimate for Tom, but he refused to back down now. Harry was answering questions, no matter how evasively.  It seemed that now was not quite the right moment for murder, if he could judge Harry’s actions correctly. “What else do you know of my past? Other than…” He paused, searching for the right words. “Other than the circumstances of my birth?” Asking of his future would be futile, seeing as though it had been irreversibly changed at this point.

 

Tom couldn’t help the shock on his face when Harry mentioned his surviving the killing curse. “H-How…?” He sputtered, completely caught off guard. “How could you possibly survive that? No one has ever survived that!” Tom’s eyes traced the thin scar on his forehead, his jaw tightened visibly as the pieces quickly fell into place. The scar, it was a mark of dark magic gone awry.  Harry hadn’t been thorough with his details, of course. When he said that the prophecy had linked the two of them, he certainly hadn’t mentioned his survival.

 

“Superficial information? Mind link? I don’t understand.” Tom snapped through clenched teeth. “Explain yourself! You’re being infuriating!”

 

Xx

 

When Tom’s dulcet tones gave way to petulance, Harry couldn’t help but smile; Tom sounded more his age when he spoke that way. He brought his fingers up to his mouth, smothering his reaction so Tom wouldn’t be able to misinterpret it as teasing.

“Right, I’ll start from the beginning then. Give you some context.” He cleared his throat. “Leave the questions and comments until the end, alright? I’ll lose track of what I’m saying otherwise.”

 

Harry’s gaze was vacant as he mentally picked apart the details of Tom’s life. He knew them well; it was deciding how to articulate them that was the hard part. He didn’t want to be too long-winded, but he didn’t want to skimp on too many details, either, and he also wanted Tom to know he regarded him and Voldemort as two different people. It was a lot more thought than he’d usually put into anything he said.

 

“…You don’t need me to recount your entire upbringing, so… you made two Horcrux’s while still in Hogwarts, and once you had graduated you started traveling and making more. Eventually you reached the peak of your power and started a war. You weren’t really Tom by that point, though. That was basically your Tom Riddle to Voldemort transition period.” Harry wrinkled his nose. “A prophecy about me and Voldemort was made during the war and overheard by one of his followers, who immediately relayed it to him. Neither of them knew what they he heard wasn’t the _full_ prophecy. He only had a small part of it, but deduced that I was the one ‘fated’ to vanquish him. He ended up fulfilling the unheard part by marking me as his equal through a failed killing curse. It failed because of an ancient magic invoked by my mother, rebounding and leaving me with a fragment of his soul.” A barely perceptible blush rose on his cheeks as he continued. “Er. Love. That- that was the magic. It protected me right up until my first year at Hogwarts, by which time Voldemort had managed to convince a professor there to let him inhabit the back of his head. Obviously his plans didn’t work out since I’m still alive, and he resumed being…” Harry made a vague, incomprehensible gesture with his hands. “No one really knows what he was, but he was so weak that he had to live inside a guy’s turban all day – which people threw snowballs at, by the way – so you can come to your own conclusions about that.”

 

Harry paused to make sure Tom was keeping up.

“I actually met _you_ in my second year. You’d been preserved in a diary for fifty years, but you were still sixteen year old Tom Riddle. I can’t imagine that was a pleasant existence, but I wasn’t able to muster up much sympathy for you at the time since you tried to kill almost a dozen people while possessing my best friends sister, and then attempted to kill me. _After_ giving me a ‘we’re not so different’ speech.” He rolled his eyes. “Long story short, I destroyed that horcrux entirely by accident. Voldemort himself didn’t reappear until my fourth year, and with the help of a servant who had sought him out in my third year, he’d made an eighth horcrux by that time. He thought it was his seventh since he never figured out he’d accidentally made me into one. He had that servant help him brew a regeneration potion, of which I was a key ingredient. It gave him a body that looked like the offspring of a skeleton and a snake. I was too busy being tortured at the time to tell him as much or he might have reconsidered the red eyes and white skin.”

 

He’d intended that as a joke, but it came off a bit dry.

 

“After I’d escaped that predicament, because I seemed to be pretty adept at that at that point, the mind link I mentioned earlier started to strengthen. I’d seen snippets of what he was doing the previous year and now that he had a corporeal body, those were becoming more frequent. I bet you saw this part coming: he took advantage of our mind link and… well, those events aren’t really that relevant, to be honest. Point is, the war had begun again and the only way to stop it was by destroying all his horcrux’s. So that’s what I and my friends did. We destroyed all but two, including the one inside my head.

 

“Voldemort was the one who destroyed the one inside me. He used the killing curse on me again, but it didn’t kill me. It killed the fragment of his soul. And while I was straddling life and death I saw what would happen to him.” There was a pregnant pause, and then Harry ran his hands up through his shaggy hair, pushing it behind his ears. The movement put the whole of his scar on view. The puckered, white flesh seemed to shine beneath the overhead light. “He was this horrible, raw, flayed thing that looked almost like a baby. It was in pain and I wanted to help it, but I couldn’t, and I don’t… I don’t think you knew what you were or who you were. You were just conscious enough to be in pain. And if I killed you, that was your future. Neither able to live nor die. Just _that_ , forever.” He wetted his lips. He hadn’t intended to start using ‘you’ to refer to the thing. “I knew that, but I still would have killed Voldemort if it meant no one else would die or suffer on my behalf. I didn’t succeed, obviously, which is for the best. If I hadn’t resorted to time travel you would have been stuck there with no way out.” Harry’s hands dropping back to the table signified the end of his story.

 

“Anything you want me to clarify?”

 

Xx

 

Tom was sitting very still when Harry finally finished. He had hardly moved during the entire duration of Harry’s shortened and sped up rendition of his story.  He seemed to be almost carved in stone, rarely blinking, hardly breathing, his fingers slowly tightening on the apple before him as Harry’s words created a world unto itself, spiced here and there with a bit of grim, dry humor on the speaker’s part.

 

For having just recited the entirety of his life and their rather tumultuous past in the span of maybe ten minutes at the most, Harry looked like he was doing remarkably well. One might even have described him as ‘spirited’ as he dropped his hands on the table to signify an end. He was sitting quite easily with his empty glass, staring expectantly at Tom for some sort of confirmation, some grand display of acceptance or even rejection. If that were the case, Harry would be proven rather disappointed.

 

Tom sat before him, stoic and silent, his breathing carefully even, yet remarkably deep as though he were trying to keep himself steady. His face was ashen and stood out all the more white against his dark hair and eyes. His hands shook as they gripped the apple, making deep brown bruises on the crisp, red skin until finally the fruit burst in his hands under the strain.

 

The crushing sensation seemed to awaken Tom to a certain degree. He blinked rapidly for a moment, shaking his head slowly as though trying to awaken from stasis. Closing his eyes, he set the crushed fruit down on the tabletop next to the untouched glass of water and finally looked back up at Harry, his eyes unfocused, his mind working quickly yet his body only slightly responding.

 

“I need to lie down. Do not follow me.” Tom didn’t realize he had spoken until he heard his own voice in his ears. Slowly lifting himself from his seat, he retreated back to the staircase without another word, ascending steadily at first, (where he knew Harry could see him still), and then finally allowing himself the handicap of leaning on the doorframe as he stumbled into the master bedroom, slipping the door quietly closed behind him.

 

Tom had been defeated. No matter which way he turned, he had to face death.

 

Harry had been genuine, truthful. Tom saw it in his brilliant eyes and his sharp mind as he spoke of the past events between them. He had been so very animated, yet so rushed in their story, their previous encounters.

 

It seemed incredible that Harry was even sitting there to relay the full chain of events. The tale had been so very outlandish that Tom couldn’t blame himself for doubting his counterpart, and yet there were bits that were undeniably true.

 

His intentions for his family’s ring, perhaps for his diary once he managed to get confirmation from another source that creating multiple horcruxes was even possible. The chain of events seemed so very strange and otherworldly, but those two facts tied him to this other individual irreversibly. A story about him that was now, not even about him. The news that his soul fragments were so very easily done away with was disheartening to say the least. Shreds of his pride refused to let him forget that he had so much riding on his Horcrux mechanizations, and to hear of it all crashing down around him was sickening.  Or perhaps it just seemed so because Harry was speaking so quickly, so casually about his demise. There was no real way to tell.

 

Tom collapsed on the bed before him, his empty stomach churning dangerously yet again as he curled up to try to ease the pain. He tried to calm the thoughts and questions buzzing in his head, but was failing miserably as they continued to surface at a frequency that made his hands shake and his head throb.

 

Harry had come here to change the future, to finish him off before this story ever began.

His father kept screaming somewhere in the back of his mind. _Tom was going to die. It was all because of Harry._

 

Xx

 

Harry was starting to wonder if being honest with Tom was the best idea. The boy was clearly in shock. His face had turned ashen, his eyes were unfocused. He looked as though he might faint at any moment. He would have told him everything eventually – had already planned to prior to traveling to Tom’s era – but it seemed as though he should have given Tom some time to recover from the first information dump. Maybe this was why Dumbledore had always been so reticent with him, not giving him the full story until it was needed. He wasn’t about to agree with that method of imparting information, but he was starting to understand Dumbledore’s feelings on the matter.

 

He waited twenty minutes before ascending the stairs after Tom, carrying the book, glass of water, and a fresh apple with him (the other one was still splattered all over the kitchen table; he would clean it up later). Once he was sure Tom wasn’t crying, he nudged the bedroom door open and stepped inside, very quiet on his feet, as though trying not to be heard. The items were dumped on the bedside table. He added a pepper up potion as an afterthought; it had always made him feel better even when he hadn’t been ill with a cold.

“If you need a sleeping draught, I’ll bring one up for you,” he said gently, turning to leave.

 

He would wait a few days before he told Tom anything else. Give him time to absorb the information he already had. Eventually Tom would know his whole story, but not until Harry was sure it wouldn’t be detrimental to his mental health.

The next time Harry came upstairs, it was with a bowl of stew, which he left on a tray beside Tom’s bed, covering it with a dishcloth so it would retain its heat until Tom felt peckish enough to eat it. That would be the last Tom saw of Harry for the evening. He retreated to his own bedroom before the sun had even started to set, falling asleep within minutes of curling up beneath the covers.

 

He wouldn’t realize until morning that he had completely forgotten to clean up the splattered apple.


	2. A Trip to London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry seems to have gotten the situation mostly under control. With Tom safely agreeing to the three guidelines of their unbreakable vow, there's absolutely no way that he can become Voldemort once again. But, when one threat is finally sorted and set aside, another quickly arises. How are Harry and Tom to survive in a war-torn world with limited food supplies? Do they dare risk a trip to the city to try to get the rations that they need?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Thank you so much for all of your wonderful love and support! I am completely honored to have individuals giving this story a read through. If you have any time, could you please leave me a comment, or some kudos? Also, I'm still working on finishing up this storyline, so if you could let me know which parts of this story you find the most interesting or intriguing, I would be extremely grateful. :)
> 
> Just in case anyone forgot, this is a compilation of a roleplay between myself (https://riddlemostpowerful.tumblr.com/) and HeroComplexing (http://herocomplexing.tumblr.com/). I played Tom, while my companion played Harry. Their writing is incredible, and I would highly recommend that you follow them. My sweet, adorable buddy Grace Lee (https://darklorddiscourse.tumblr.com/) collected most of the posts together for me, so I owe her a huge thanks.))

_This might be his only chance to escape._

 

The thought had occurred to him far before they had even decided to travel outside the bounds of their small, stolen abode in Little Whinging. Tom knew that they could not survive for an infinite amount of time on the food that they had found within their home. Necessity inspired change to a certain degree. Tom had expected Harry to confine him to the house while he went out to get provisions, but when Harry had announced that both of them would be venturing out tomorrow for London, Tom had to admit himself shocked by the offer.

 

Their time together since the incident upon their arrival had been tense to say the least. Tom had trouble forcing himself to digest Harry’s genuine words and insane thoughts. His mind was still reeling at the revelations, wondering how many holes in their joined tale Harry had simply glazed over.  Tom constantly questioned the fate that had been torn away from him, as well as the fate that they were building together now.  Would he have achieved immortality had he simply ignored the prophecy? Would he have managed victory over the opposing forces by amassing powers from other magical cultures? Could he have changed his fate, avoided destruction? It was too uncertain to tell, and he hadn’t quite decided how to worm that information from his counterpart yet.

 

He ate little, and he slept less. He found himself approaching everything Harry said and did with extreme caution. It was as though every moment he were on the edge of an attack. He would not allow himself to forget the hate, the simmering rage within Harry’s eyes as he had held his wand up to Tom’s throat, digging in the tip as he forced him into the vows.

 

Every word Tom spoke to Harry was carefully plotted, guarded, meant entirely to gain more information from him yet wholeheartedly afraid of what he may find within that information.  All the while, the memories of his father, his uncle, and even grotesquely invented ones of his dead mother floated within the back of his mind, robbing him of what small amount of rest he could find with unsettling nightmares.

 

_He had to get away. This was his only chance._

Tom held Harry’s arm as they apparated into the outskirts of the city proper. He trusted that Harry had some idea of what they were supposed to be doing here, but he wasn’t certain that Harry knew exactly how hard it was to find provisions in wartime London, being ‘from the future’ as he claimed (though Tom still didn’t know how much he could trust that fact). Perhaps it had been a sign of Tom’s luck turning around, but his ‘guardian’ had forgotten to specify exactly how close Tom had to stay nearby while they traveled.

 

The sensation of adrenaline washed over him as he kept his breathing carefully even, calm. “What sort of supplies are we looking for?” He asked softly, releasing his grip on Harry and giving their surroundings a quick glance. He was surprised no one had noticed their arrival, but then again, everyone was on the lookout for the droning sound of an oncoming plane, not the snap of an apparation.

 

London was crowded today. Granted, London wasn’t nearly as crowded as it had been before the war began, but there were more people out on the streets than Tom had remembered there having been in quite a while. It had been a year and a half…no, two years since the aerial attacks had had rained upon the city.  While they had slowed down for the most part, every now and then there were still stray bombings, like violent, deadly little thunderstorms, peppering the ground with debris and ruins. The city, the war, the people with their worry-lined faces, drawn with tension and sleeplessness, the ghostly memories of young men (barely older than Tom himself) who had once walked these streets as well; it all put Tom on edge.

 

Xx

 

“Uh…just some food,” was Harry’s answer. He was clearly distracted by his surroundings, surveying the great, gaping holes in buildings as they strode through one of the densest parts of London. His heart felt like it was stuttering in his chest. He had been too disorientated to take notice of his surroundings the last time he had visited London, and having only frequented areas populated by wizards, there had been little to see even if he had. While the Londoners were adapting and leading as normal a life as they could manage, the damage inflicted had clearly taken its toll on them; many looked wary and fatigued, giving furtive glances to the piles of debris lining the footpaths, perhaps trying to discern how many people could have been caught in the associated attack or if any of the materials were still salvageable.

He wished now more than ever that he could remember more about the war. Hogwart’s texts had scarcely mentioned it, and those that did had little to say about the ‘muggle military conflict’. Being ten at the time, what he had been told in muggle school provided little insight into The Blitz- when it had begun, when it had stopped, how many buildings had destroyed, and how many people had died.

 

If nothing else, he was relieved by the lack of bodies on the streets. Civilians were clearly trying their best to make what remained of London livable.

 

It was mid-July. The streets were less congested in part because those who could afford it had traveled away for the summer, and others still in the process of scraping together the funds would soon follow suit. Harry wondered, briefly, if they ought to follow their example and relocate to the countryside, because if there was even the slightest chance they could be bombed while slumbering he didn’t want to take it. Even if they had to live in a tiny hut out somewhere by the sea, it was better than fearing going to sleep at night.

Those thoughts were washed away as he _finally_ came upon a greengrocer. He grasped Tom by the arm and lead him up to the counter, glancing around at what little was available.

 

“Er, excuse me,” he called to the owner of the shop, who raised his head and gave him an once-over, frowning. Harry pushed on. “Could I have some-“

 

“Don’t think I’ve seen you here before,” the man grunted, interrupting him. “Are you registered with us, son?”

 

“Registered?” he blinked rapidly. “Er, no, we’re alone you see, and, uh…” He was having trouble thinking up a believable lie, but thankfully the grocer interrupted him again before he could further embarrass himself.

 

“You can’t buy food unless you’re registered,” he said, his expression suddenly soft and sympathetic. Whatever conclusion he had reached in his mind it seemed to be one he had encountered multiple times before. Two young, parent-less boys out to buy food; Harry was suddenly struck by the implications of that.

 

“Sorry, boy. T’both of you. There’s no more room here – what’s left is spoken for,” the man said. “But you can still take yourselves across to Raymond’s and register there. There’s a bit of a line-up but you ought to be able to get something if you hurry.”

He blinked a few more times, bewildered, before tightening his grip on Tom’s arm and dragging him away. He yelled ‘thank you!’ to the man as they re-entered the traffic of the footpath.

 

Once he had located an alleyway to slip into, he turned to Tom and asked, “What does he mean by ‘registered’? How do you do that?” He glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the greengrocer they had been referred to. There was indeed a lengthy line waiting for them. “Are all the shops like that? Because I don’t have anything to register _with_.”

He’d heard about the food rationing, of course, but that was the extent of his knowledge. He didn’t know _how_ food had been rationed, and _what_ you needed in order to register for your portion. He was starting to feel bad for the people he had stolen food from during his first day; they were probably struggling enough without some foreign entity coming along and taking what few vegetables they had been allocated.

 

Xx

 

The exchange with the kindly, yet downtrodden greengrocer had been intriguing for Tom as well as Harry. The children of the Wool’s Orphanage had certainly felt the effects of rationing, being that the amount of food they were allowed to consume had dwindled down to the bare minimum (the best of the portions saved for the small children as well as the employees, whose coupon books included the luxury of larger portions of protein and milk for growth). They were not permitted to do any of the food purchases though. The books of coupons had been handed off to the caretakers and that was the last Tom had seen any of the logistics for ‘buying’.  

He knew from being around the city though, in order to obtain a booklet, one had to register with a grocer which would then permit them the right, through the government, to rations of food, specified by coupons, and counted out meticulously when the individual in question paid. Tom, of course, didn’t have to worry about most of that, being that the children had nothing to do with handling money of any variety.

 

Distrust?  Probably.  Was it _warranted_? Most likely, given Tom’s penchant for thievery.

 

After getting tugged into an abandoned alleyway, Tom listened carefully to Harry.  It was not necessarily to Harry’s words that he was searching, but his tone. The young man was quite 'genuine’ enough to show both mentally and verbally exactly when he had exactly no idea what was going on.  Tom could have laughed in relief. For the first time since he had his counterpart’s presence forced on him, Tom had the upper hand. Harry was delightfully clueless.  It was time to use this to his advantage.

 

Tom’s mouth thinned to frustrated line, as he sighed, clearly perplexed, crossing his arms before him and taking a moment to think. “At the orphanage, we, the children I mean, didn’t deal with any of the food purchases.  I know how the registration for stamp booklets work though.” He continued with a purposeful nod. “I can do this for us, but…” He looked with a touch of hesitation at the line outside of the grocery store which the kindly man from earlier had referred to.  It snaked down the street, around a few stray piles of rubble which no one had the ability to remove completely yet, directly in front of the skeletons of a few bombed homes which displayed their wooden flooring and drapery like a sick imitation of a ruined doll house.  Women held their children close as they slowly inched forward, step by step, to get their rations.

 

“That must be the line for families.” Tom observed, thinking fast, looking back to Harry. “There’s a separate one for single individuals like you and I. It’ll be far faster if we use it. And the faster that we get registered, the faster we can be out of London.” Tom admitted, looking anxiously about them. The very air seemed to hold an exhausted tension which Tom could not stand for long. Needless to say, summers here were absolute torture.  

 

“If you want to go first, I’ll wait here.” He offered, a hint of urgency in his soft voice. “Or I will, it makes no difference either way. We just need to get our food and get out of here.   _Quickly_.”

 

Xx

 

Tom clearly didn’t think much of his intelligence if he thought Harry would leave him on his own in a crowded London street. It’d be too easy to lose him, and then Harry would have to call him back and hope he returned before the vow started to take effect. If Tom thought of separating from Harry as a route of escape, he obviously didn’t understand how their arrangement worked. How perilous it was for him to spend any length time away from Harry at all. He might not have set up any boundaries yet, but Harry hadn’t dismissed Tom, either; he would only be able to get so far before the lightning bolt shaped scar on his arm twinged in an effort to get him to turn back.

 

“We’re better off than any muggles are, and if they can calmly wait in the family line, so can we.”

He set a hand between Tom’s shoulder blades and guided him to the mouth of the alleyway. Tom’s nerves were understandable, but both of them were _wizards_ ; they wouldn’t be crushed or killed by flying shrapnel or caught in a fire because they – out of the hundreds of people occupying the streets – were the only ones capable of protecting themselves. They were privileged with safety, while the muggles… they just had to leap into the nearest shelter, clench their fists, and hope to god they didn’t die in the same painful, messy way so many of their family and friends already had.

 

Harry felt a heavy burden of guilt developing on his conscience. He really needed to stop doing that. Just because he had been born into the role of savior for one war didn’t mean he could to be the savior of every war he encountered (‘hero complex’ had been a common criticism in his youth and that had only become more apparent as he had aged). Besides, this war already had an end. It didn’t need Harry’s intervention.

 

Slipping his hand away from Tom, he peered across the street with a frown; where was the second line?

 

“Looks like this shop doesn’t have a second line, anyway. We’ll have to join the family one.”

 

Xx

 

_Goddamn him._

 

Harry had seen through his ploy in seconds, and now he attempted to humiliate him, he was pointing out the fact that the second line never existed.  It had been Tom’s lie from the beginning, but he was grasping at straws.  Any excuse to get Harry away from himself would be a good one. Running away should not be resorted to unless all other efforts seemed to be failing, but at the moment, Tom’s mind was coming up with nothing else that would take him away from Harry.

And there was always the question of the vows, and how far he might be able to push his luck until…

 

Tom wondered briefly what might happen if he broke any of the vows. Unconsciously, the lightning bolt scar traced into his arm twinged, itching annoyingly, as though reminding him of the words he had clearly been forced into speaking. Harry might have seemed casual, even foolishly, or heartbreakingly caring at times, but Tom could not allow himself the luxury of forgetting the cold hatred in those brilliantly green eyes as Harry had pressed his wand against Tom’s jugular and forced him into this predicament.  

 

Harry’s hand pressed against his shoulder blades were anything but a comfort. They were a reminder of who was in control, who he had to answer to despite the understanding tone that Harry had taken with him since their rather ‘educational’ conversation following the vows. Maybe some part of this man did pity Tom to a certain degree, but Tom wondered how long pity would last when he realized that Tom was still his enemy. Or rather going to be his enemy.  Or perhaps would have once been someone who was going to be his enemy…?

 

_Merlin, what kind of mess had Harry gotten them into?_

 

Tom glared venomously down at Harry. The tension running all throughout his body seemed to be a feeling shared by the entire street full of the line. They would be waiting in this forever, and Tom wasn’t even certain if they would be able to register. Without being a legal owner of a property, or any sort of registration papers, or even being an adult citizen of England, there wasn’t much of a reason for a country at war to provide them with precious provisions. _An underage, penniless orphan and an unregistered, homeless adult?_ There wasn’t a shot in hell they would be getting any sort of food.

 

Tom glanced at the individuals around them. The mother who had joined the line behind them was attending to the crying child in her arms while taking the other child by his hand to keep him nearby.  In front of them, a rigid looking, middle aged woman spoke briskly in undertones to her two, scruffy, adolescent sons. No one was listening to himself and Harry. Everyone was too tired, too afraid to care.

 

“We’ll have to falsify our documents or control our attendant. Do you think you can do that?” Tom asked Harry softly, but his voice was quick and sharp with agitation. He was staring at the setting sun with the same amount of apprehension and fear that the rest of the crowd was.

 

Xx

 

At the end of the lengthy line of people Harry could see the greengrocer retrieving food items from his shelves. He would pile them into a paper bag and it to his customer with their rations booklet tucked inside. Rarely was there enough to warrant more than one paper bag. With the added task of filling out the rations booklets, the line was edging along painfully slow. Harry glanced to the sky the same time Tom did, watching as orange hues streaked through the clouds and faded into pink, yellow, and then white. It would be dark soon.

 

“-Wait, what?” Harry jerked his head around to face Tom. “I thought…? Never mind.” Tom had lied. Of course he had. This was what he got for giving Tom Riddle the benefit of the doubt. Reaching into the folds of his robes, he withdrew his wand in preparation to use the imperious curse. It would be the second time in a week he’d used an unforgivable, and this time on an innocent, unsuspecting muggle. It didn’t bother him as much as he would have liked. Maybe he was starting to get desensitized.

 

That thought wasn’t one he entertained for long.

They waited what Harry approximated to be twenty minutes before they reached their turn. By then the shop directly adjacent to them had turned on their light, casting them in a tawny glow. It was muffled slightly by the black paint smothered over the glass. With how fast people were retreating back into the safety of their shops, it wasn’t likely they would be able to purchase anything more than vegetables today, but that was alright; Harry could whip up some vegetable soup to last them until tomorrow, after which he would return for additional supplies.

 

The spell was cast. The man smiled, his eyes glazed, and asked in a soft, accommodating voice if Harry would like a bag, and just how many vegetables he would like to buy today. Harry wanted to get this over and done with as quick as possible and was digging a hand into his robes long before the man began to speak. He tossed a rather large note his way and requested one of everything, casting furtive glances to the people behind them, wondering if they thought it odd that he hadn’t presented a rations booklet.

 

“You can keep the rest,” he told the man, who had started thumbing through his till in search of notes large enough to use as change. He smiled, closed the till, and turned to start bagging their items.

Harry wasn’t much worried about running out of money. They would, eventually, but the sort of money he had on him went a long way in this era.

 

Xx

 

Tom wasn’t certain why Harry had bothered to cast furtive glances around them. The streets were hastily emptying as the sun dipped more slowly towards the horizon line. Tom didn’t have a working watch (he simply could not afford one), but it was more than clear to him that curfew was fast approaching. The only thing that had kept the greengrocer from sending them on their way without any provisions was most likely Harry’s skill using his dark magic.

 

Even while the fear grew within Tom, he collected bits and pieces of what he could about his counterpart. He was adept at dark magic, and rather rich (by the looks of how little he seemed to care for the money he hastily shoved at the extremely accommodating shopkeeper). One of everything would not get them very far, of course, but Tom wasn’t about to interject. Any information that he could keep from his captor was precious at this point, something that may be used for his survival and eventual escape

 

_Do not forget who holds the power over you and who could just as easily use it against you._

 

The sun had now disappeared and the glow was quickly retreating. At this point, about five years ago, one could have expected street lights flickering to life, but nothing responded now. The growing darkness felt remarkably cold for this time of year, and the light which hastily flickered and went out behind the curtains of the shop did not lessen the feeling of absolute, frightful solitude.

He had been trying to find a way to escape all this time, but as the darkness closed around him, he realized that to ensure survival, they had to get out immediately. The street was deserted. Everyone from the mother with the crying child to the stern family that had shared a line with them had disappeared indoors.

 

“Harry-” Tom whispered, his voice tight, ragged, ready to suggest they retreat when suddenly he heard it.

 

The air raid sirens exploded into the air, breaking the tense silence with a low, resounding wail. Tom froze, his attention snapping upward as though he might be able to see the black shadows of the planes within the growing darkness. He grabbed at Harry’s cloak, his grip like a vice as he dragged him quickly to a nearby alleyway.

 

Doors were shut and locked, lights were put out, the street descended into complete darkness and the sirens moaned onward, clear, crisp and jarring. All of the tense thoughts, the plans, the lies which Tom had been laboring over during the past few days descend into a buzzing madness. He felt himself heating up, as though his body simply could not contain all of the panic and adrenaline that was pumping through this fragile, _mortal frame_.

 

His breathing couldn’t catch up with his body, his body couldn’t catch up with his mind, his mind couldn’t catch up with his thoughts. Tom gripped the side of the stone building for support as the sirens roared onward. There was no more defense, no magic that could have kept the exploding buildings from falling down around him.

He was going to be crushed, to disappear in bloody mess of bones, gore and shit. He was going to be dragged out of a mass of rubble, halfway intact just like he had seen them do so many times before, to be lined up for no one to recognize. Who would know him? And if they did, who would admit to knowing?

 

This was how he, Tom Riddle, was going to die.

 

Xx

 

The paper bag full of their groceries had torn in two as Tom forced them to flee, dragging him more bodily than Harry had known him capable into the stifling darkness of an alleyway. The vegetables lay scattered across the pavement and asphalt, forgotten.

 

The siren was thundering through his head and disrupting his thoughts before they could surface, making them bob in and out of focus like a buoy. He didn’t seem able to calm himself down. He knew only that he was very, very afraid, and that it had been a long time since he had been afraid like this; this terror was better associated with a younger Harry potter, naive enough and alive enough to still be afraid of dying.

 

When a strangled thought finally did managed to reach his comprehension, it was only one word, ‘escape’. He grabbed Tom’s wrist and apparated to safety.

 

At least, he had thought it was safety before they staggered into Little Whinging and were presented with a clear, black sky with a few distant aberrations soaring towards them like falling stars. It didn’t matter where you stood, where you looked from, it would inevitably look as though you were about to die.

 

Harry’s was frozen in place for all of a few seconds before his mind grasped at a new place to apparate: Hogwarts. The place he had always felt safest. Their surroundings swirled and distorted and suddenly they were falling into soft green grass, far from the castle, its lights twinkling reassuringly in the dark of the night. There was no siren. There were no bombs. There was no sign at all that they had just fled a war zone except the mutual buzzing of their minds.

 

He was draped over Tom’s body, his hand still wrapped tight around that thin, pale wrist. He quickly released it; there were nasty pink finger marks embedded into the skin. He dragged his eyes up to Tom’s face and noticed the boy was scarcely breathing, looking as white and shaken as he had upon being told his own legacy. Harry cupped that pallid face in his hands, wincing at how cold and clammy the skin was, and tried to draw his focus back into reality.

 

“It’s – it’s okay Tom. We’re fine. You didn’t think I’d let us die, did you?” He was glad Tom was lying down; Harry didn’t know much standard first aid, but he had heard somewhere that lying down was the best thing for people in shock.

 

Xx

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tom could feel Harry’s hand close around his wrist, gripping it with a desperate intensity. He could feel the fear in Harry’s mind, the shock and the horror at the blaring of the sirens and twisting, tugging, sickening sensation of a slide along apparation but Tom’s mind was too far away to comprehend it.

Memories flooded back to Tom. He saw flashes of brilliant color in darkness as small firebombs were dropped through thin the thin, flammable roofs of the Orphanage, of ashes filling the air as flames sprung up like spring daisies. He remembered the boy who used to deliver the newspaper to Mrs. Cole, what it was like to see him, grey and bloody as they pulled him from the wreckage. He had been even younger than Tom.

Memories of houses reduced to rubble in mere seconds, as if God had grown bored with his toys and decided it best to start over from the beginning. Stone, ash and fire that fell like rain. Bodies, young and old, whole or torn, lined up, lifeless and cold as tin soldiers.

 

Tom remembered just a few years prior, sitting on his stiff orphanage bed, listening for the low buzzing of doodlebugs, clutching at a wand which he was not permitted to use. He recalled the sad, pitying smile he had received from Headmaster Dippet as the man repeated slowly for the third time, “It’s simply not done this way. You couldn’t possibly stay over the summer.”

 

He remembered the first time he had heard those sirens and how he had scoffed at them. He was _magical_ . He was _special_. He couldn’t be touched by these idiotic muggle killing machines. He had taken the chaos as an opportunity to sneak away. Oh, how quickly he had learned that death would never discriminate between those with or without the ability to use magic. After the extent of the destruction became all too apparent to him, Tom had barely managed to retreat back to a nearby shelter in time. He could never seem to forget the sight of buildings crumbling like sand castles at high tide, or the screams which accompanied them.

 

Tom felt his feet hit solid ground, but in the darkness he could not even begin to tell where he was. All that his mind could comprehend was that the sirens were farther out now, and the night had swallowed all light.

 

All at once, the twisting sensation returned and Harry’s hand tightened on his wrist yet again. As suddenly as it had come, the sensation was gone and Tom felt himself slam on to the ground. The scent of soil and grass filled his nostrils, but he could barely breathe enough to recognize it. The heavy weight on top of him shifted, but the buzzing and swirling of the thoughts made it impossible for him to completely comprehend anything aside from fire, ash, blood and destruction.

 

Harry’s eyes came into clear focus, impossibly brilliant in the darkness which surrounded them, and the feeling of hands cupping the sides of his face. He saw Harry’s mouth moving but he couldn’t hear anything aside from the low buzzing, the wailing sirens, the pained screams. Harry was imploring him to _do something,_ but it was all Tom could do to keep fighting for breath through his panicked state, Tom’s fingertips dug into the soil beneath him, tearing at the verdant grass as his jaw clenched tightly. One clear thought seemed to surface through the rest, all focused on those shining eyes floating above him. _Survive. He had to survive._

 

All at once, something seemed to snap within Tom. He gasped, gulping down air so quickly, so hungrily that it hurt. All the while, his focus stayed firmly on those imploring, worried eyes floating above him as he lay on the ground, gasping and shaking.

 

Xx

 

The peculiarity of being hunched over his archenemy, soothing a hand through his dark hair, cupping his cheek, was not lost on Harry. What he knew of Tom Riddle had always suggested he was a highly composed individual, a textbook case of a psychopath, right down to torturing and killing small animals as a child. The gasping, shuddering boy beneath him was completely incongruous with the Tom Riddle that occupied Harry’s every waking thought, and with every new display of weakness, of _vulnerability_ , Harry was finding it more and more difficult to see this Tom Riddle as the one he had known his entire life. He was more human than Harry had ever thought he could be.

 

“-You’re breathing. Good! Fantastic! Keep on doing that, otherwise you’ll pass out and I’ll have to carry you all the way to Hogsmeade.” Keep on talking. Provide leverage. Harry couldn’t profess to know exactly what he was doing; he generally sought out repression and anger when dealing with his own trauma, and he had always been quick to recover from his experiences, if not wholly intact. He would have given Tom Lupin’s miracle cure – chocolate – had he any on hand.

 

The only thing he had was a flask of tonic water. It probably wouldn’t help as much as chocolate would have, but it was a start. “Here,” he said, retrieving Tom’s white-knuckled hand from the grass and curling his fingers around the flask. “You’ll want to sit up first so you don’t choke on the water. Just…” Positioning himself beside Tom, he slid an arm beneath his quaking shoulders and dragged him upright, keeping him pressed tight to his chest. “There. There’s a little bit of fire whiskey in that, so that might help.”

 

Just a _smidgen_ of fire whiskey had been added to help Harry sleep, especially on cold nights. He rarely drank it unstilled these days and would never understand why Ron had preferred it that way; it seared your throat when consumed straight.

 

“We won’t be going back to that house,” he continued, because he was sure this news would improve Tom’s mood. “I’ll find somewhere else to stay. A village or something. Or we could camp. I’ve got a portable tent in my pocket somewhere.”

 

Xx

 

Tom felt suddenly quite exposed. He couldn’t explain how or why that was, but lying there, finally catching up to his breath as his shattered thoughts began to piece themselves together, he felt as though he had revealed something which he could not erase from his counterpart’s mind.  He wished he could cover the entire fiasco up. As though it were as easily as wrapping himself in cloth, or hiding away his face, or making a petty, witty joke at Harry’s expense, but there was nothing which could erase the fear that Harry had witnessed, the terror and desperation which he was so careful to keep in check.

 

Harry had spied the weakness behind Tom’s mask.  

Tom felt his tension ease as Harry’s worried, yet gratingly cheerful tone broke through the silence which had settled in the wake of his panic attack. That was what it had been, hadn’t it? He hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of completely breaking down before, but it seemed similar to previous episodes he had when he was quite a bit younger (before his time at Hogwarts). It had been years since he had lost control to this extent. The last time, he had ended up accidentally setting half of his possessions on fire with uncontrolled, wild magic. In retrospect, Harry was quite lucky he had not repeated the mishap.

 

Harry was still looking down at him pleadingly. The sound of his voice was gradually growing stronger as Tom’s breathing regulated to the point of being ‘normal’. His heart was still hammering wildly at his ribcage, as though trying to escape, but Tom would have none of this continuing. Harry had seen more than enough to humiliate Tom tonight. He would put an end to this weakness.

 

 _Immediately_.

 

His shaking hands closed to fists, gripping hard until the trembling ceased. He snapped his eyes shut, the sight of Harry’s soft, caring face burned in his vision as he trained his own expression into unreadability. He had practiced this so many times before, forced his weakness behind the facade of power and calm control. Power was easier; that, he had in spades as a birthright. Calm control was something he had to constantly keep in the forefront of his mind.

 

Tom heard Harry’s hopeful tones yet again and upon opening his eyes he was met with the sight of Harry trying to hoist him up to a sitting position. He complied easily enough, shaking his head slowly as he felt a small, metal flask being forced into his hands. Taking the flask, he listened intently to Harry’s voice, not necessarily the words but rather, the inflection and intent. Helpful, imploring, caring. Tom looked over to his counterpart yet again, letting Harry’s expression do the talking, rather than all that useless babble.

 

It seemed worlds away from the hate filled threats he had endured just a few days earlier. Tom’s expression softened with confusion and without meaning to, the words slipped from his mouth. “Why are you doing this?”  His voice was ragged and dry, but softer with uncharacteristic uncertainty.

 

Xx

 

And here, inevitably, came the shame and repression. Harry had enough experience with the aftermaths of an emotional outburst to know exactly how Tom _wouldn’t_ want him to respond, though he had to do a bit of guess work in regards to how Tom _would_ want him to respond. He continued holding Tom to his chest, considering Tom’s question. That could mean a great many things, but in this context, he probably meant it to mean ‘why’re you being so nice’. The kindness he was displaying was contrary to some of his earlier behaviour; the threatening, more specifically. Tom had to assume that the anger and hate was as much part of his personality as his other behaviors, for safety’s sake, but that wasn’t the kind of person Harry was. Even after losing everything, he was still Dumbledore’s ‘golden boy’.

 

“Well, for starters, I brought you to a war zone, which was really stupid.” He shrugged a shoulder, jostling Tom. “And I didn’t want you to get sick again or something. There’s not enough in your stomach for that. Would’ve made you feel way worse.” Another shrug and he slowly stretched a leg out beneath Tom’s torso, giving Tom additional support. “But we can go to Hogsmeade and get something to eat there. You’ll probably be recognized, but that’s alright; you can just introduce me as a friend or something.”

 

He couldn’t decide between camping or staying at Hogsmeade for the night. _Only_ the night. They wouldn’t be able to rest at the latter for any longer than that, least they attract unwanted attention.

He leaned back on a hand, peering across the rolling hills to where Hogwarts stood, looking more inviting than it ever had before. Nostalgia was coiling in his gut. He really did miss the days where he could be a carefree schoolboy, before Voldemort’s resurrection, before the entire wizarding world had seemed to start conspiring against him. When it was just him, Hermione, Ron, and Sirius.

 

Wetting his lips, he looked down at Tom.

“You should drink something.”

 

Xx

 

Harry was pretty terrible at lying.

 

On a certain level, it was almost comical.  The man with all of the power between them couldn’t seem to tell Tom the complete truth about the situation.  Dark secrets hid within his pensive silences. As Harry wondered what Tom meant, Tom knew exactly what Harry meant: that he did not yet trust him. Understandable, considering Tom’s current standing with him as a ‘casual prisoner’ of sorts, but Harry also seemed just as unwilling to leave Tom in the dark, afraid and alone.

 

Tom felt himself being shifted every time Harry shrugged uncomfortably. Twice. The man had absolutely no idea how to ‘act natural’. His naiveté could have been considered adorable in any other circumstance. He closed his eyes, letting his confused notions finally piece themselves into a question, the real question he had been searching for from the beginning. He reveled in the sensation of being away from those bombs, those sirens, and all of the fire and death.  Withdrawing from Harry, he fixed him with an unreadable, piercing stare.

 

“That’s not what I meant.” Tom questioned in a low, personal whisper, as though afraid of being overheard, or worse, completely understood. “You traveled from the future to the past, meaning that you doomed yourself to abandon everything and everyone that you knew and loved.” Tom paused, pensive for a moment. “Or perhaps, everything that I hadn’t already taken from you, by the sounds of it.”

 

“If you would have left me, I would have been just another body of a boy found during an Air Raid. It would have been all too easy, and no one would have connected you to me directly. Bloody hell, they probably would not have even known how to find out who I was.  I’ve no one to speak for me. My family-” He cut off, his mouth tightened as he thought back on his father’s horrified face, his fearful screams, his enraged grandfather and despairing grandmother.

 

“What I meant was, why allow me to live? Better yet, why try to save me? None of this makes sense.” He breathed.

 

Xx

 

“Tom, _really_ ?” Try as he might to maintain a neutral tone, Harry’s voice was a touch exasperated. He knew Tom’s assumptions weren’t unreasonable but he couldn’t help but feel a little bit slighted by Tom thinking he would leave him to become a smeared patch of boy on the asphalt. It wasn’t likely he would have been hit, anyway, and what would have Harry done then? “You’re alive because I don’t want you dead. I _never_ wanted you dead; most of the time I didn’t even want to kill the version of you that was actively trying to kill _me_. And I definitely wouldn’t leave you to die after giving you food, water, and shelter for almost a week; that’d be kind of screwed up, wouldn’t it?”

He inhaled sharply, his lungs protesting the introduction of chilly night air.

 

“I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you, and definitely not by my own hands. The initial threat against your life was just a last resort, but you accepted the vow, so now you’re my responsibility.”  

 

The intensity of which Tom was staring at him compelled Harry to turn away, his fingers twisting and pulling at a tuft of grass. It was a penetrating sort of look, and considering Tom was a gifted legilimence, he wouldn’t have been surprised if that was exactly what he was doing. All the more reason for Harry to suddenly find the horizon very, very interesting, his eyes roving over the clusters of stars that flanked the forest.

 

“Besides,” he continued in a mumble. “It’d kind of suck to be all on my own, not able to tell anyone I’m from the future without being labelled mentally unstable. Which you’ve already done a few times, probably, but that’s probably more of a defense mechanism since you haven’t yet tried to tell me I’m a liar.”

 

Xx

 

Tom listened as Harry spoke. He heard the words, but he was looking for something much deeper: the meaning within Harry’s tone, the feeling behind his sentiments, the _truth_ within his statements. Clarity rolled over his mind, crisp, genuine and refreshing as a breath of fresh air when Tom seemed to have been living in a world of smoke and fog. It dawned on him so suddenly that the realization was almost blinding, jarring. Harry’s mind was so starkly different from his own that it felt like the difference between boiling and freezing, yet there was something oddly comforting about the change of pace.

When Harry snapped his attention away once again, Tom could not necessarily blame him. He was obviously familiar with the concept of mental invasion, of legillmency, but he had not expected the chill which ran down his spine from being cut off so suddenly.  Tom sighed lightly. He thought back on the words, but even more than that, he dwelled on the feeling that came with it, the clarity, the responsibility, the tinge of frustration. Without even meaning to, Tom had rested his head on Harry’s shoulder. For the first time since learning of his family, he felt the intense stress and fear begin to dissipate as relief numbed the pain.

 

Maybe Harry really _didn’t_ want him to die after all. Dare he hope it? Hope certainly had not allowed him to survive this long. Then again, there was definite evidence here to support his counterpart. Harry could have easily killed him days ago now, or let him die all on his own. He had even gone so far as to protect, feed and shelter him. It still didn’t entirely make sense, but it seemed at least somewhat dependable.

 

“We will go to Hogsmeade.” Tom sighed. “They won’t recognize me there. I hardly go there to begin with, I’m far too busy studying. When I do go, I’m usually not frequenting the typical sights, so we should be safe at the Three Broomsticks for a time.”

 

“And, Harry…” He paused, pushing himself away from Harry now, straightening a bit and looking much more like his own charismatic, (albeit exhausted and starving) self as he quirked a brow and gave Harry a tired smile. “You may be insane, but you’re certainly not a liar.  Just as I may be a liar, but I’m certainly not insane.”

 

Xx

 

Harry rose to his feet, brushing moisture and grass off of his knees and ass with his palms, not quite managing to get all of it. That was alright. There would be time to make himself more presentable once they were in the Three Broomsticks. At some point he would have to purchase something more era-appropriate to wear than the shirt, jeans, and sneakers he was currently wearing; he hadn’t seen anyone else wearing jeans yet, which meant he would stick out like a sore thumb if he was ever to go around without his cloak.

 

“You might’ve been better off telling me ‘you’re a liar’ _after_ we’d settled into the Three Broomsticks.” As he said this, he wore a playful sort of smile. It wasn’t a comment intended to make Tom think Harry doubted him. Even if he was lying, they would only be staying there the night; he’d decided his galleons would stretch further if they camped.

 

Hogsmeade was across the river, and as they were without a boat… Harry extended a hand to Tom, gesturing for him to take it. He could have just grabbed him and apparated, but he’d been doing that an awful lot recently and he was sure Tom was getting tired of the disorientation.

“And I’m not insane,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “At least, if I am, I’m not aware of it.” He was sure Sirius would have found such a comment amusing. Whether or not Tom did remained to be seen.

 

Xx

 

“I would have thought you’d have caught on by now.” Tom’s voice was brisk, but playful.  Something seemed strikingly more natural about the way he smirked at Harry as the other man pushed himself off of the ground and gave Hogsmeade a precursory glance. As Tom sat there, exhausted as he was, he seemed significantly less tense than he had within the last week or so.

 

There was a distinctly purposeful nature to the other man that made Tom think that there was a great deal more to Mr. Harry Potter than he had first assumed. Resourceful, willful, sarcastic, useful and skilled. _Genuine_. Tom could never let himself forget about how deadly he was as well.  Harry wanted him to put that memory far away from Tom’s mind, but death was a constant fear for him. He couldn’t bring himself to erase when the threat of it had been staring him in the face with piercingly green eyes. Could he move past this notion though?

 

Harry offered his hand and Tom tensed.  Staring blankly up at him was all Tom could do. Was it all a ploy?  Gain his trust in order to smash it, tear away the only thing Tom had ever valued, _his life and power_?

 

Tom took a deep breath and then huffed in frustration, letting the chilly night air fill his lungs before taking Harry’s hand and lifting himself from the ground. Tom shook his head in laughing softly as he patted away a few stray pieces of grass on the front of his shirt, trousers and backside, then running his hands through his hair for good measure (just in case some had found their way there as well). “Time traveling and politely holding your archenemy hostage? Harry, you’re absolutely barmy.”

 

Perking up, Tom spotted a few bits of grass which Harry had missed, stuck at odd angles in his hair.  Delicately, he pulled the blades out while he continued speaking pensively. “Then again, I’m along for the ride, so I must be just as mad.”

 

Xx

 

Harry spied Tom’s hesitation, and he wasn’t surprised, nor disappointed by the sight of it. Both of them had trust issues they would need to work on. It wasn’t likely they would ever trust each other fully, all things considered, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have an amicable relationship. The way Tom smiled and laughed and picked grass out of Harry’s hair seemed to Harry a promise of a less turbulent future.

 

 _Or Tom’s just buttering you up_ , his mind provided unhelpfully. It was rarely helpful these days, always burdening him with paranoia and nightmares.

 

“I think that goes without saying. I mean, you _did_ think Horcrux’s were a brilliant idea.” Harry reached down and claimed Tom’s hand again, pausing briefly before he tugged him into the moonlight.

 

Tom’s eyes looked even darker than usual at night. His pupils were almost indistinguishable from his irises. Would they ever gleam red while his soul was intact, or was that feature only present as a consequence of the creation of Horcrux’s? He couldn’t remember if they had gleamed red prior to splitting his soul. It had been such a long time since he had been privy to Voldemort’s memories.

“…Right, well. We’ll get a room at the Three Broomsticks for the night, then set up camp somewhere tomorrow morning.” He readjusted his grip on Tom’s hand and started to turn, and seconds later they descended on Hogsmeade, landing awkwardly on their feet before their destination. It looked almost exactly like it would in sixty years. How convenient.

 

Releasing Tom’s hand, he entered the pub. “Do you want a butterbeer? Firewhiskey-? Wait, no. You can’t have that one yet, right? Your birthday’s in December.” As much as Harry enjoyed butterbeer, he would be ordering himself Mulled Mead. It would help him relax, and god knows he needed to relax after witnessing a raid.

With that in mind, he added. “I could still get it for you, but you’ll have to drink it discreetly.” Because he was sure Tom needed to relax just as much as he did.

 

Xx

 

“I think ‘ _Immortality_ ’ is a brilliant idea, Harry. A Horcrux are just a vehicle.” Tom stated fluidly (despite his somewhat rough voice from the night’s proceedings). It was startling how warm Harry’s hand was in the chill of the night air. Or perhaps it was that Tom had just gotten cold yet again. He was rather sensitive to the chilly weather and found that his graceful, slender hands became frozen in a matter of minutes in the winter season. It was not that he would ever admit his slight weakness aloud, but it was rather cumbersome.

Particularly when Harry remained so warm. It was probably the adrenaline buzzing through Harry’s system, or the magic he was currently using. That seemed logical enough.

 

Harry gaze lingered on him for a moment as though assessing him before pulling his hand into the moonlight. Suddenly, he felt the twirling, squeezing feeling of being forced through time and space once again. His feet hit the ground on the worn out cobblestones before the Three Broomsticks before pitching him forward slightly. He caught himself, sighing in relief as he drew himself back up to full, confident height. Despite his ashen face and slightly trembling hands (hardly visible as he kept them at his sides), he looked every bit as self-assured and remarkably beautiful as usual.

 

Tom followed after Harry, making eye contact with absolutely no one in particular, seeming impressive and unapproachable all at once. He settled down at a table in the quiet corner, making sure that both seats had an easy path to the entrance (such practices had become second nature to Tom).

 

“No, I’m-” Tom answered quickly, meaning to refuse any alcohol, then stopped himself, looking at his pale hand, the slight tremors which ran through his fingertips which made it nearly impossible to hold his hand still. He gulped heavily. “Yes, if you would. Some wine would be pleasant. And food, any variety.” He admitted, feeling sullen by the admonition of his rather ‘human’ weakness: a need for sustenance.

 

It was strange to actually be asking for food. Tom was no longer hungry. His body had reached the point that his stomach had felt so numb with fear and dread that it had stopped reminding him of his need to eat. Yet, he knew that he needed to sustain himself. He had hardly consumed much in the past week beyond what he would have needed to keep his wits about him, but now that he had decided…now that Harry had saved him from…

Perhaps the best phrasing could only be: now that he was certain that Harry wasn’t going to murder him immediately, he needed to try to take care of himself. What a strange notion, to be cooperative to the man who had completely foiled his plans, Tom reflected as he tried to keep his mind from the memory of those eyes looking imploringly down at him, the words he couldn’t hear at the time above his mind’s panicked explosion.

 

Xx

 

It didn’t take Harry long to get everything arranged, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing; by the time he had finished paying for their meals and room the bartender had convinced him to stay an additional three days. ‘We charge our overnights customers more, y’see,’ the man had explained in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘T’make up for the customers that might have stayed longer if the room was free. It’s cheaper this way.’

‘Cheaper’ was all he’d really needed to say. Growing up with a complete absence of money and then being thrust into prosperity at the age of eleven meant Harry was completely oblivious when it came to regulating money, so he let words like ‘cheap’ and ‘expensive’ make his decisions for him.

 

When he returned to their table, he was holding a rather old looking key with a roman numeral on its tag. “I told them to bring the food to our room,” he said, gesturing for Tom to follow him. He was already heading for the staircase. “It’s number, uh…” A glance at the key. “…Nine.”

 

Their room was small, but homely, with a log fire and a single bed pressed up against the far back wall. Harry shrugged off his cloak as he entered, folding it over his forearm. It was the first time he’d ever removed it in Tom’s presence. Paranoia usually prevented him from being relaxed enough to do so, no matter how hot it got, but now that it was off Tom would be able to see there wasn’t anything spectacular beneath. Just a short-sleeved t-shirt, jeans, red sneakers, and a single, fingerless glove on his right hand, the other one being conspicuously absent. Nothing of great interest.

 

He threw himself down onto a floral-patterned settee, letting his cloak drop into his lap while he ran his hands up and down his face. It was all sweaty and gross. Hopefully there would be a shower available for use, though he doubted it from the look of the place; it was so old fashioned he would probably have to drag out an old tin bath if he wanted to bathe.

 

“I ordered you some stew and wine,” he said as he slid his arms behind his head. “I’ve never had the wine myself, but it was more expensive than what I got so it has to be something good.

 

Xx

 

Tom had nodded and followed after Harry without complaint. To have a bit of privacy after their ordeal in London sounded all too tempting, and Tom was understanding of Harry for not wanting to be out in the open wearing his sloppy, oddly styled clothing. If his companion was anything to judge by, their future was looking rather casual and…drab.

 

The room itself was rather large and surprisingly cozy for what he would have expected from the Three Broomsticks. He had always assumed that the tavern was primarily just that, a tavern and not an Inn.  As it turned out, they were more than prepared for those who had tipped back just a few too many pints. The fireplace crackled comfortingly from the outer wall, giving the entire room a warm, welcoming glow.

 

There was something otherworldly about the entire scene, truth be told. It was a testament to the extent of how much Tom truly loved magic. He could escape the terror of living with his kidnapper and possible murderer, step out of the ruins of the bombings in London, bounce back from the panic attack under the stars, as long as he had the magic world waiting for him here.

 

Harry’s worried, imploring expression flashed in his memory. Tom took a deep breath and forced himself to focus. His eyes roved to their one, rather squashy looking bed, covered by a thick, fluffy quilt. There was something peculiar about that fact, but before Tom could bring himself to consider it he found himself distracted by an even more peculiar mystery.

 

Harry’s black glove. A single black glove. Tom’s eyebrows drew themselves into a perplexed line as he gracefully sat down on the bed, his eyes never leaving Harry’s right hand. He paused, wondering if he should bother to voice his question, wondering if he’d even get a response but he couldn’t quite help himself. His exhaustion seemed to have ebbed away at his usual tact.

“Why are you wearing that?” Tom asked, completely disregarding Harry’s information about dinner in lieu of more intriguing conversation. “That glove, I mean.” He gestured to Harry’s hand.

 

Xx

 

The bed wasn’t an ideal place to sit for dinner, and Harry had been about to say as much when he noticed Tom staring at his hand. In his confusion, he looked down at it too, examining it for anything that might have caught Tom’s interest. Harry had never been the most astute of people, and testament to that, it wasn’t until Tom had started to speak that he realized the source of his curiosity.

 

“Because I don’t want to see what’s beneath it,” he said simply. He wasn’t trying to hide anything; that much was clear by his choice of words, but extending Tom the knowledge that there was indeed something hidden beneath the fabric didn’t mean Harry was about to unveil it.

 

“You aren’t going to sit over there while you eat, are you?” Harry asked, a blatant attempt to change the subject. He didn’t fancy spending the evening trying to persuade Tom the glove wasn’t worth investigating. “I didn’t put my legs up specifically so you could eat at the coffee table, which… well, it is a bit low, I guess. But I can fix that.” He withdrew his wand and did just that. The table shot up to waist height, its legs thinning as compensation for the additional inches.

 

There was a knock on the door before he could continue blathering on, which was probably a good thing. A server stepped inside with a pint of mead and a wine bottle. The wine bottle was set on the coffee table along with a dainty looking glass, while Harry’s mead was pressed straight into his hands. Evidently this man knew which of them intended to get drunk tonight.

 

“It’ll refill on its own,” he said on his way out the door, gently closing it behind him.

 

Harry took a gulp of his drink and was immediately warmed by it. It had all the benefits of firewhisky without the searing discomfort in his throat.

Speaking of firewhisky… “Tom, did you drop my flask?” Because he hadn’t seen it since they had apparated.

 

Xx

 

Tom didn’t know what to make of the comment about the glove. Of course, the words were evasive, but his expression was even more closed off than Tom would have suspected Harry of. It was clear to Tom that he had made a misstep in asking him outright for the answer, but one couldn’t always be tactful and smooth, particularly with someone he had literally been spending all of his time with. He kept himself carefully silent, watching with interest as Harry refused to expand on the topic.

 

It was alright. Tom could wait. He was a patient man and like Harry had told him, they would be spending a great deal of time together.

 

“Of course I wouldn’t eat on the bed.” Tom snipped, rolling his eyes as though it were the most obvious fact between them. Truth be told, the sight of somewhere to rest after this night’s events had forced food from his mind. The sight of Harry using magic to heighten the table made him long for the feel of his own wand as one may remember the soft touch of a security blanket. He missed the spark of power and energy he got from holding what at face value was just a pale, thin wooden stick. Yet it hid so much more than that.

 

It was magic that he missed.

 

His fingertips tingled a bit uncomfortably, realizing the power that was building up within him and no outlet with which to channel it. He had not had this sort of problem since his very early years, his ‘demon days’ as he fondly referred to them when the head of the orphanage had referred to him as a child of the devil for 'moving objects’ and 'making things about him burn and spark’. This was before Mrs. Wool had arrived, constantly nipping at her brandy and scotch, ready to overlook his worst transgressions with a mere slap on the wrist and a careful eye moving forward.

 

Tom perked up when the server came in. The man set down the wine for Tom, along with a rather graceful looking glass. He handed the bottle of what must have been mead to Harry before quickly, politely departing. No food. Oh well. Tom’s deadened stomach was not really reacting to much prompting anyway.

 

Tom moved himself smoothly from the bed to seating himself right beside Harry on the floral settee, drawing Harry’s flask out of one of his robe pockets with the smooth motion of a practiced thief, setting it on the table beside the bottle. “You know,” He began softly, reaching out the delicate fingers of his slender hand, watching as the glass slid eerily toward him. He motioned smoothly with a single fingertip and it followed along, rotating gently and lazily as Tom spoke in an offhanded manner. “I suppose, it never really matters what’s happening to the world outside this one.” He admitted softly. “No bombs, no hunger, no war. It’s only magic here.” He stopped directing the glass and instead reached out, drawing the wine bottle to him, letting it slide in his direction, motioning for it to evade the flask beside it, before picking it up and filling the crystalline glass.

 

“This place is…” He trailed pensively, pausing as though words were escaping him. “It feels like a gift when I want it to be a birthright. You understand that, _don’t you_?” He couldn’t deny the longing from his voice. He picked up the glass, took a deep draw of the dry, red wine.

 

 _If he had killed his father, it would have been the last tie to that disgusting, filthy, mundane world he had left. If only he had just gotten to the spell sooner._ His silence brought memories he simply could not stand, the buzzing of his mind brought the scream of his father, the terror and the truth of his rape and the devastation it had wreaked on his life, of the fear he bore for his unclaimed child. In that moment, Tom would have done anything to escape that silence, that scream.

 

“There’s only one bed.” Tom interrupted his spiraling grim thoughts with an obtuse observation. Their room was perfect for a young couple. Perhaps that was what the proprietor had assumed that they were. Strange, that Harry had not corrected him. He smiled easily, covering his momentary lapse with a quirked brow. “So, what do you expect us to do, hm?”

 

Xx

 

Without much thought as to why Tom would have the flask in his pocket, Harry retrieved it from the table. The metal was chilled. Generally these things warmed in one’s pocket, but as he had started to notice Tom had a perpetually cool body temperature he didn’t think much on that, either. It was returned to the depths of his cloak.

 

A grunt was Harry’s initial reply to Tom’s question about birthrights and gifts. Hermione would have been able to empathize. She, as a muggleborn, a ‘mudblood’, knew what it was like to have access to the wizarding world unwillingly imparted to her rather than extended as a birthright. Harry didn’t really know what that was like. Not because of his half-blood status, but because being the Chosen One meant the wizarding world had always considered him one of _theirs_ , going as far as to exert ownership over him. He’d realized by his fifth year that any time he expressed too much autonomy there would be repercussions from those who expected him to be as compliant as a trophy on their mantelpiece.

 

He wasn’t sure how to put this into words, so he simply said, “Not really. I don’t think anyone should consider magic a birthright. It should be a gift for everyone.” But that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon, especially not in this era. No one wanted to admit that magic belonged to everyone who partook in it, even squibs and the muggle parents who conceived a magic child. No one wanted to admit this because that would mean changing, and the wizarding world was very opposed to that. Considering something a birthright was just another way of shouldering out anyone you didn’t deem worthy.

 

He glanced to the bed when it was mentioned. It looked very comfortable, but Harry wasn’t fussed; he’d slept rough often enough to be able to fall asleep just about anywhere. “If you want the bed you can have it.” He took another swig of his mead, making himself comfortable in his corner of the settee. “I’m the only one capable of magic at the moment – fancy wandless magic aside, so it’d be unfair if I made you sleep somewhere you couldn’t transfigure into something more comfortable.”

 

A pause.

 

“…You _can’t_ do wandless transfiguration, right? “

 

Xx

 

Harry never left him questioning exactly where he stood for long.

 

Tom was learning quickly that his companion had boundaries but he wasn’t quite sure where they were located. Normally, Tom got a feel for most people upon meeting them, but Harry had known nearly everything about Tom from the very first moment they had exchanged words. Everything was within Harry’s grasp, from the nature of his conception to the way he had been abandoned. He had known that Tom planned to prolong his life indefinitely by sacrificing others in its place, he had known that Tom was a stellar student, adapt at fooling those around him. He had known that Tom was a skilled duelist, intrigued by all forms of magic and its history. For Merlin’s sake, he probably even knew that Tom’s favorite food was _blackberries_.

 

If Harry was angry, there must have certainly been a reason. Then why did he have to seem so damn _unreasonable_?

 

Tom couldn’t help himself as bitter anger rose to the surface. His pensive expression hardened and became icy, unreadable. He stared down into his delicate glass for a moment before gently setting it down on the table. “That was not what I meant. _Do not twist my words_.” He replied coldly. He took a moment, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly in frustration.  What amazed Tom more than the fact that he had become rather annoyed, was the fact that he seemed to be having a bit of trouble masking that annoyance. His usual layers of charm, the armor he wore to keep most everyone from understanding him did not seem to effect Harry in the slightest. It was infuriating.

 

His mind thought of a dozen different snide remarks to make, cutting Harry and his bold attitude to pieces, but he kept them safely locked away. This was no time to be making threats and enemies, particularly not if that individual had his wand and was literally vowed to be with him.

Tom sat back calmly, folding his arms with a rather casual, tired sigh. “It doesn’t matter, Harry. You’re the one with the wands, you’re the one with the power.” Tom reminded him somewhat redundantly. Tom glanced back at him, and though his face was still exceedingly pale with exhaustion, his dark eyes managed to shine with interest while also being remarkably guarded, distant and cold. “You’re going to do as you please, just as you always do. Why even ask, Harry? Did you actually want to listen?”

 

Tom kept remarkably silent after finishing.

 

Xx

 

Harry was good at a lot of things. Quidditch, Defense against the Dark Arts, fleeing dangerous situations; he was not, however, good at correctly interpreting other people’s emotions. They were often confusing and troubling for him. He probably had a larger empathy range than Ron, but that wasn’t helping him at all with the task of figuring out what exactly he’d done to upset Tom. For a moment he looked completely lost, a deer-in-headlights expression upon his face, eyes flicking between Tom and the bed – had he implied something bad while talking about the bed? – and then after this moment of confusion passed, giving way to amusement, he couldn’t help but snort.

 

“Sorry,” he said quickly, lifting a hand in a placating manner. “Sorry, it’s not funny, I know. I just – the last time I felt like this I was trying to figure out why the girl I was dating wouldn’t stop crying.” He really had a serious case of foot-in-mouth syndrome when around Tom, didn’t he? He took a large gulp of mead. “Erm, not that you’re a girl. Or act like one. I’m just not sure what you want from me at the moment; I’ve already conceded the bed. And I wasn’t trying to twist your words, and… I don’t know… I wasn’t trying to force you into letting me sleep in the bed either.”

 

There was a lengthy pause before he spoke again. “If you want something from me, or I’ve done something to upset you, just tell me. It’ll be a lot easier on both of us.”

 

Xx

 

Maybe Tom had been hanging around his fellow ‘friends’ and followers a bit too long. He had expected a tactfully cutting response, something questioning his trustworthiness to begin with, or maybe even the worth in keeping him around if he was at such a severe disadvantage in not having a wand. He was expecting for Harry to get upset (at the least), to be riled up and respond in kind to Tom’s coldness with cutting remarks and enraged accusations.

 

Just leave it to Harry to have one of the most _confused_ apologies he could have mustered. Tom might have even become angry if the entire display hadn’t been so unguarded. Tom hadn’t even been trying to read Harry’s thoughts when the vision of a rather pretty looking young Ravenclaw girl with dark hair flashed in his mind, straight from Harry’s, tears streaming down her face as she sat before an untouched cup of tea in an shockingly 'pink’ cafe. Tom paused, looking hard at Harry as though this must be some sort of ruse, some ridiculous joke he was playing at. When Harry held his gaze with just as much confusion as when he began Tom couldn’t help it.

 

He burst out laughing. Not a cold, cruel cackle, or a contrived polite chuckle, but full on and unfettered, warm laughter. The entire scenario was just _ludicrous_ to him. Harry, the man with the power, currently 'gently’ holding him hostage, and doing his damnedest to lead their way forward had gone from threatening his life to saving it. Tom, the boy who had all of the power and the drive to take a human life in order to prolong his own now squabbling over hurt feelings and single bedroom living situations. All of it was just…absolutely mad.

 

The door creaked once again as the server awkwardly shoved it open with his hip and elbow while carrying a tray laden with a sizable bowl of thick beef stew and steaming hot rolls of bread. “Apologies for the wait, sirs.” He said with a gruff nod.  Tom, meanwhile, bit back his laughter, and settled into uncharacteristic blush and a humble silence as he realized his show of emotion was no longer confined to just him and his companion. He coughed awkwardly and picked his wine glass up once again to avoid it being spilled as the tray was set down before them.

 

When the server finally left, closing the door soundly behind him, Tom looked down at the meal. “You’d better eat some as well.” He chided, gesturing to the enormous serving. “There’s no possible way I can finish this alone after this last week.” Harry clearly knew that he had been refusing meals. No point in hiding it anymore after the debacle in London.

 

“And as for the sleeping arrangements.” He continued casually, taking a sip of wine and ignoring the protesting of his stomach in lieu of the pleasant tingle of an alcoholic buzz. “It’s clearly made for two people. If you had wanted to strangle me in my sleep, I figure it would have already been done ages ago.” He observed, chuckling at his own rather grim joke. “And if you snore though, _I’m kicking you out._ ” He continued, picking up his spoon and pausing.  He cast Harry a sidelong glance, as if searching for the words before speaking softly.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Xx

 

The laughter startled Harry into silence. He had heard laughter from Tom Riddle before, and it didn’t sound like that. The cold inflection was absent; there was no hint of mockery. If Harry’s lingering confusion hadn’t been exacerbate by the laughter he might have felt compelled to join in. All Harry could bring himself to do was stare and listen, and perhaps that was a good thing, because the more he stared and the more he listened the more warm and approachable Tom seemed.

 

It was almost disappointing when Tom was forced into silence by the arrival of his stew.

 

Harry managed to summon a half-hearted smile to dismiss their server with. He then reached for one of the steaming rolls, ripping it in half so he could chew on one end. There was butter inside, warm and gooey and delicious. When Tom offered him his stew, Harry made an appreciative sound and dipped the remaining bread into the lumpy liquid.

“It’s okay,” he began, but Tom was still talking.

 

 _Thank you_.

 

Harry wasn’t entirely sure what Tom was thanking him for, but he quickly swallowed his mouthful of roll so he could respond without being rude.

“No problem?” He shoved the remaining bread into his mouth before it cooled, chewing and swallowing in record time. He was way hungrier than he’d thought he was. “And don’t worry about it, I don’t need it. The bed, I mean. I’d just move around all through the night and wake you up.” A shrug. “My girlfriend - heh - she used to box me in because of how much I moved around. Held onto me like a straitjacket. She even did that when it was way too hot for it.”

 

Harry’s stomach was starting to feel heavy, and it wasn’t because of the food. The _thu-thump_ of Ginny’s heart was loud in his mind. Every time they had taken shelter together he would close his eyes and nuzzle into her chest, between her breasts, and listen to the steady thump of her heartbeat as he drifted off to sleep. It was the only lullaby he had ever needed.

 

“…I think I know what you were trying to say before, about uh… wanting _safety_ to be a birthright? I guess that didn’t occur to me because I’ve never really – been safe. Here or in the muggle world. There’s always been _something_. But when I was with her, no matter how bad things got, I was too comfortable to be afraid.”

This was getting too emotional for his liking. He cleared his throat, nice and loud to dispel the intimacy of his reminiscing, and reached for another roll.

 

“Too bad I’ll be about sixty when she’s born. I don’t think we can make that work.”

 

Xx

 

Harry smiled when he spoke. It wasn’t the contrived smile to gain someone’s trust or the polite smile one gives to another just to make them feel comfortable. It was a smile that remembered love, one that was used to showing affection and receiving it in return, lips that were used to kissing with passion only because they were so certain that the passion would be short lived; survival beyond the night was never promised.

 

Harry was a child of war as well.

 

To see him describe his joy now, looking back on it as a man who would never see this ‘girlfriend’ again made that smile bittersweet with memories. Tom watched carefully. In the past, this would have been studying for facts he would be able to use against Harry later, intimate details that he could use to sway him, get him to comply. What was the use of that now, though? Harry had all of the power, most of the knowledge and none of the cunning. Meanwhile, Tom had all of the savvy, cunning and was woefully unguarded. The irony never ceased to amaze him.

 

He took a few polite bites of the stew, surprised at how stocky and hearty it was, and yet how much his stomach growled for more of it. Yet, he forced himself to keep his composure and eat with decorum, unlike his companion who was currently shoving a second roll into his mouth. “I’ll rest just fine, I assure you.” He asserted with a small smile. “You know I’m from an orphanage, correct? If I couldn’t sleep through dozens of children crying every night, I would never get any rest.” He admitted, his tone soft, but with certain sense of finality, as though there really wasn’t too much more to expand on about his youth. It was really just easier to hide it anyway.

 

“Your girlfriend sounds very comforting. It must have taken a great deal of courage to travel all the way back here and leave her behind. A Gryffindor, indeed.” Tom observed, his tone even, taking a moment to glance at the steaming, half-finished stew before him.  He mentally nudged it to the side to let Harry have a bit more if he wanted.

 

“I’m afraid I cannot relate on the subject of your lovers. Most women and men consider me an object to be won or used, or a trophy of sorts.”  He stated flatly, willing himself not to remember the leering stares, the expectant gazes, the unwanted attention and affection for his beauty. Oh, how they wanted him and how he wanted nothing to do with them. He needed their loyalty, not their sexuality and _definitely_ not their love. They could keep their filthy bodies to themselves.

 

Tom stopped himself. He took a prolonged drink of his wine before setting down his spoon on the tray, stew still half done.  He stared down into his glass, concentrating. “I was thanking you for saving me, Harry.” He admitted softly. “I do not think anyone else would have bothered to do so. And given our history, I still don’t understand why you did, but I am grateful for it, regardless.” Humility felt prickly and uncomfortable. It gnawed at him and his full stomach, laughing at him from the deepest recesses of his mind. It made him feel so incredibly weak.

 

Tom forced his head up and looked Harry straight in the eye, daring him to laugh.

 

Xx

 

Harry recalled Hepzibah Smith as Tom spoke of being a prize, recalled the hungry look with which she had regarded Tom. While Harry didn’t think she had deserved to die for her interest in a man several decades her junior, it was a rather unflattering memory to have been present for. It was really no wonder Tom had decided his looks were best utilized as a form of a manipulation.

He could empathize with what it felt like to be a trophy, if not in quite the same way; Harry had been considered desirable a few times by his peers, but he wasn’t enough of a looker to get the sort of attention Tom did. He was grateful for that. Being threatened with a love potion once had been more than enough.

 

“You’re only, er… sixteen, was it? Plenty of time to find someone if you ever fancy a relationship.” There was a beat of silence, and then he added, “But there’s nothing wrong if you never want to. Some of the best people I know never did the whole three kids and white picket fence deal.” There were plenty of witches and wizards who never settled down, and there was nothing wrong with that. Tom didn’t need romantic relationships to be happy and healthy. He just needed relationships, full stop, instead of keeping everyone at arms distance all the time.

 

When it was offered, Harry gladly spooned a couple of mouthfuls of stew into his mouth, giving Tom a moment to talk without interruption. With how often Tom was needing to explain things to him, Harry was feeling more obtuse than ever. He really needed to work on that.

 

“You really ought to give yourself and other people more credit,” he said, resuming a languid drape over his side of the settee. “I don’t want to give you a big head, but people like and admire you. You’re smart and handsome and you have an engaging personality. Me saving your life was nothing special; plenty of people would have done the same thing.”

 

He offered Tom a smile.

 

“And all the stuff between me and Voldemort isn’t really _our_ history. You haven’t done anything to me. I told you everything because I wanted you to be filled in, but you aren’t him, and you’re never going to be him. You have an opportunity to make something better of yourself, and it’d be pretty amiss if I let all that potential get snuffed out.”

 

Xx

 

“I will never want a relationship.” Tom answered without hesitation. Love only brought pain, and Tom wasn’t even certain if it ‘existed’ in the same sense that people tended to use it at all times. His mother had raped his father in the so-called name of ‘love’. She had been mistaken of course. It must have been lust and hysteria. He could only imagine what it could have been like, a slave to one’s emotions, driven mad by passions one could not understand, and his father swept up in that terrifying insanity. His father’s horrified scream swam in his memory on a sea of dark red wine before he hastily shoved it away.

 

 _Love_ was the idiotic excuse girls (and boys) had for mooning over him and constantly following him around, for agreeing with him, for laughing at all of his jokes and looking to him admiringly. They wanted to bed him, or use him, or show him off in some variety. Or perhaps all of those reasons. Either way, Tom had assumed he would get rid of these troublesome looks of his later on in life, when they had lost their uses (limited as the uses might be). Now, he simply wasn’t sure what he would end up doing since ‘later in life’ he would probably be getting old and dying.

 

Tom refilled his wine glass. This was no time to think of his impending doom. He had to keep his eyes on his friendly kidnapper who was smiling disarmingly at him and eating stew. He was so simple, yet so remarkably complicated.

 

Tom laughed softly at him, smiling a bit sadly as though Harry simply didn’t seem to have the capacity to understand something quite so grim. “They admire me, yes, but there is always something to gain for them. There’s knowledge, or advice, or connections. Very specifically, they want power, Harry.” Tom named these aspects of his ‘friendships’ off quickly, as though it were the most logical, most elementary of conclusions. “I am a means to an end and I cannot expect to be much more. I’m sure they assume much the same as well.” It was all a rather grand and amusing game to these players. It was Tom’s every intention to come out on top as the victor though.

 

“You saving my life was _very_ special.” Tom’s life was all that he had at this point. For Harry to help preserve it and expect nothing in return was so illogical that Tom was dumbfounded by the prospect of it.

 

“But I suppose you are right about our history. It’s strange to hear of crimes I never committed.” He breathed. It was a powerful future he could have had, and yet something seemed strikingly _off_ about it. It was as if he were hearing the story of Snow White through the mouth of the Wicked Queen. Tom wasn’t feeling guilty over the revelation, but rather harrowingly empty for the possibilities that could have been and never would be. Perhaps it was the wine, but he was being rather loquacious, more so than usual. Tom couldn’t help the question which slipped directly through his filters. “Is it easy to separate us? Voldemort and myself? I had thought of the name, I’ll admit, but there is no point in using it now.  You say I have potential. Potential for _what_?” He asked, shaking his head slowly in confusion.

 

Xx

 

Tom’s critical view on friendship was a disconcerting thing to listen to. It was a reminder that love – both platonic and romantic – had been completely absent from Tom’s life since his birth. He didn’t know what it was like to have someone who loved you and prioritized your well-being over their own and he projected that ignorance onto his friends. At least one or two cared about him, Harry was sure. Not all of them could be as bad at interpersonal relationships as Tom was.

 

Harry sipped his mead before he responded to Tom’s question. A little liquid courage was never amiss when talking about Voldemort. “I have to consciously do it at the moment, but it won’t be like that forever. The striking difference in appearance helps. He didn’t have a nose or hair, you see.” Harry glanced at Tom to gauge his reaction. He wasn’t holding out hope that his attempt at being amusing had succeeded, though. “When I say you have potential, I mean… you know you’re smart and talented and special and all that; I know you know because you’ve never shied away from describing yourself that way.” He snorted. “And eventually you’re going to be an incredibly powerful wizard. One of the most powerful wizards in the world. Maybe _the_ most powerful wizard in the world when you start to understand – er – _love_.”

 

When Harry reached the bottom of his glass it immediately began to re-fill itself, the mead appearing out of thin air. Harry set it on the coffee table while he waited for it to finish; he didn’t want to chance spilling it all over himself. It’d be a waste of good alcohol.

 

“You could do a lot of great things. Develop new spells, make incredible medical advances, become the Minister for Magic; things like that. You could do really terrible things, too, if you wanted to.” He ran a hand up the back of his scalp, sighing. “But don’t do the really terrible things, alright? Because I didn’t travel back in time so you could grow up to be a jerk _again_.”

 

Xx

 

Hair and a nose…?

 

Tom quirked a brow and couldn’t suppress a soft laugh as he tapped the tip of his nose with his index finger. “That’s certainly _one way_ to get people to stop treating you like a pretty trinket.” He agreed with a casual sigh as though the idea weren’t terrible, but it certainly seemed outlandish from this perspective. It also might have been a credit to Harry’s power of description which tended to be just a touch rudimentary and lacking in the area of imagination, but Tom couldn’t fault him. His companion had nearly finished his glass of mead now and he seemed to be enjoying himself a good deal.

 

 _He’s letting his guard down. Ask more questions_.

 

Tom looked down at his own wine glass, noting exactly how fast the contents seemed to be disappearing for him as well. Normally, Tom stayed away from drinks, unlike Dolohov who partook in drink ‘whenever he bloody well could’ (as he would always say). Drinks impeded the mind, loosened the tongue, and made men do idiotic things. It was foolish, useful, and even dangerous at times, but Tom had never been one to let himself have more than a glass or two. Yet, here with Harry, he didn’t mind reaching over to refill it once again.

 

He watched the dark red liquid cascade into the glass as Harry spoke. When he looked up once again, there was a hopeful light in Harry’s eyes, a passion to his speech that was strikingly compelling. Tom swallowed hard, willing himself to stay focused. “I know that I’m special, that I’m talented.” He admitted softly. Against anyone else, he would have been proud, forceful, but Harry had already made his argument quite passionately. Tom felt it was a bit much in agreeing just as fervently. “I’ll have to consider my options.” He responded simply. “I had not expected…such sudden changes in circumstance. I mean, Minister of Magic has a lovely ring to it, but does he _really_ have as much power as we assume? Politics may end up being a messier career path than the dark arts.” Tom gave a grim smile.

 

“You’re very talented as well, Harry. “ He admitted. While the statement itself was certainly a compliment, but by his tone of voice, Tom was being observational, factual. He peered at Harry over the rim of his wine glass before drinking it to enjoy the dry, rich taste. “I’m curious. What are you planning on doing here in this time period?  Aside from giving me worldly advice, of course.”

 

Xx

 

Harry had always had a modest opinion of his skill, and he maintained that opinion. He had talent – enough people had told him that for it to ring true – but he would never be as powerful as Tom or Dumbledore or even Professor McGonagall. It had never been the potency of his magic that had made him a formidable opponent for Voldemort; that’d had a lot more to do with their innate connection and his unfailing wiliness to sacrifice himself than any actual skill.

 

To Tom’s question, he shrugged. “No idea. I wasn’t really thinking about that when I made the decision to come here.”

 

Being an Auror still held its appeal, but fooling the ministry into employing him seemed an impossible feat, and it wasn’t like he couldn’t fight dark wizards _without_ the label. Maybe he could become a vigilante? Technically he didn’t exist yet, so there would be no way for anyone to link his actions back to him.

 

“I guess I’ll fight dark wizards. That’s what I’ve always done.” He retrieved his drink and took a hearty swig. It was now so full it was almost overflowing. “You could join me, if you like. We can be a duo, like…God, I don’t know. I can’t think of an era appropriate example. You guys don’t have decent television yet.”

 

His face scrunched up in concentration. His cheeks were starting to colour from intoxication.

“…What’s the wizard equivalent of Batman and Robin?”

 

Xx

 

Harry looked conventionally handsome. He was the approachable sort of chap that women simply loved to bring home for their mothers and fathers to meet so they could discuss exactly how many kids they would prefer to have. He smiled widely, spoke plainly, and never seemed to stray from his righteous and brave ideals. Of course, those women would have never thought him capable of the deadly glare he had once pinned Tom to a chair with (along with several binding charms and a wand), but that was beside the point. Even his threats had been to ‘save the world’, as he saw it.

 

It seemed even more within his character to see that he reacted to being complimented on his skill with withdrawal. This meant he did not know how to react to admiration, that he didn’t allow himself to revel in the idea that he was skilled or powerful.  This humility did not seem to hinder his confidence in his abilities, or his quick and tactical thinking. In retrospect, that fact was quite amazing, but it seemed to somehow suit him.  He didn’t wear his power like a cloak, it molded to him like a second skin, so uniform to the way he worked that it seemed a part of him. _Intriguing_.

 

“How do you define ‘Dark Magic’?” Tom asked. In retrospect though, someone of Harry’s moral standing may need a situation to relate the question to. He took a long drink from his delicate glass, feeling the numbing tingle of the alcohol as it slid down his throat. “For example, blood magic.” He began, gesturing fluidly. “It can be used to torture and to control a human being. But surprisingly, it is one of the most effective ways of saving someone from any sort of poisoning, magic or mundane. It can also help to heal areas of the body that have been severely damaged from repeated trauma. Yet, it is outlawed.” Tom observed, naming off facts more to himself than to his companion, as though finding his own footing in the topic.

 

“Mind you, I’ve never performed it.” Tom admitted somewhat compliantly, giving Harry a somewhat bashful smile. “I’ve read on it. The subject is popular in a war-obsessed country. The line between ‘accepted’ and ‘dark’ magic is baffling and the ministry refuses to make things clear. It seems the only time something is ‘dark’ is when it’s used directly against them and it cannot be used to further their own ends.”

 

Tom took another lengthy drink from his glass which he seemed to savor before turning his dark eyes on Harry again. “Truth be told, the Ministry could use your assistance.” He admitted casually. “They’re a mess.”

 

The offer took Tom by surprise. He was about to assert that he had far larger plans in the future than hunting down ‘dark’ wizards who had hardly a handle on the extent of their magic when he realized that…he didn’t. He really didn’t. Tom had **no** plan for the future. In the course of just a short week, no probably just those first few hours they had been together, Tom’s goal for immortality as well as his scheme to gain power had been completely undermined by three…rather, _two_ vows (the last one seeming just for good measure).

 

“I have no idea who either of them are but they sound like comic book heroes.” Tom commented with a playful grin. “I claim whichever one dresses the best. I refuse to be seen in an outfit like some shoddy Superman knockoff. I have make a good presentation of myself, Harry.” He said with a touch of mock-flamboyance.

 

Xx

 

Harry knew better than most that there were occasions where dark magic was imperative to the well-being of wizard kind. If he had not used the imperious curse on the occasions that he had, progress would have stalled; people would have died. There _had_ to be exceptions. So while his opinion on Dark magic was of the black and white variety, he knew it was possible for it to be utilized for good. He was just also very well aware that it was primarily used for bad, and that was why its use _had_ to be regulated. He had no interested in loosening the restrictions on dark magic that had a history of being misused.

 

“It’s kind of hard to make the distinction. Any sort of magic can be used with ill intent. Dark magic is just… easier to use for that purpose, and sometimes developed specifically for it. Like the Unforgivable Curses.” He licked his lips, the stale taste of alcohol on his tongue. “There are probably dark wizards who don’t use dark magic, but I don’t think I’ve ever met one. They’ve all been willing to use crucio and the like. The unforgivable are like the hallmark of a bad wizard.”

 

After drinking so much mead, so fast, Harry was feeling a little light headed. He let his eyes flutter shut – and then forced them open again, setting his drink on the coffee table while he readjusted the cloak in his lap. He couldn’t let himself fall into too much of a daze; an amicable relationship with Tom didn’t mean Tom wouldn’t try to retrieve his wand the moment the opportunity arose.

 

“Mmm, neither of them dress the best, honestly,” he said, grinning back as he groped around his thigh pocket for his wand. A silent spell was cast on the cloak to seal the pockets, and then he tossed it aside. “They both wear their underwear on the outside, and I’m pretty sure Robin’s doesn’t even have leggings to go with his outfit. It’s a gymnastics thing.” He resumed drinking his mead, sliding his wand back into his pocket. “I get to be Batman, though, because I’m the adult, and I’ve more or less adopted you.”

 

Just like Batman adopted all his Robins. He remembered one of Dudley’s friends speaking animatedly about the subject, once.

 

Xx

 

Smart.  Harry wasn’t just by-the-book style ‘law enforcement’ when it came to his particular brand of righteousness. He was savvy about what it takes to ensure that one’s goals are accomplished, and that every spell had a proper place. _Perhaps even one which ensured immortality._ Tom couldn’t help but hope after having the rather obvious realization that it wasn’t necessarily the 'living forever’ option that Harry seemed so opposed to, it was the vehicle he had been planning on using to get him there.  

 

Tom wondered briefly what Harry was up to when he searched about for his wand. Seeing him seal up the pockets of his cloak, even in his increasingly inebriated state convinced Tom even a step further that Harry was sharper than he was letting on, and perhaps even less drunk than Tom was assuming after two full glasses of mead. Even through his frustration at not having his own wand in hand, he found himself admiring that fact about his companion. Tom supposed he would have to deal with random explosions of energy from himself for just a short while longer.

 

_He really missed his wand. Damn it all, he really missed using magic, the power and release it brought._

 

“Underwear on the-? No leggings? Christ, Harry, I don’t need to make it easier for people to undress me mentally.” Tom laughed. In fact, for some reason, Tom seemed to find it a great deal funnier than he normally would have. Something about the fuzziness in his mind which spread itself all the way down to his fingertips seemed to soften his demeanor as he doubled over in the same, unexpectedly warm laughter from before.

 

Once he caught his breath, now nursing a stitch in his side, Tom wondered if now would be the right time to ask Harry about the future, his friends and history there. Somehow, the fuzziness in his mind told him that it was a fantastic idea. “I’m just wondering, are you drunk enough for me to ask you about you friends in the future?” He asked bluntly. “Do all of you regularly visit Mars on a spaceship or something? I assume that’s the direction the future is going, right? Do you wear your underwear on the outside, or just clothes like those ill-fitting pants and shirt of yours?” Tom smirked at his casual garments before he took another long drink from his glass and was surprised when he emptied it yet again.

 

In the wake of his empty glass, the word 'adopted’ lingered in his mind, though Harry had really only mentioned it in jest. Really, the more appropriate word was 'kidnapped’. Tom wondered if 'kidnapping’ really could feel quite as warm as he did right now. Did this mean that Tom was ‘forcefully adopted’?

 

Xx

 

Had Tom not been inebriated, he might have detected a barely perceptible stiffening of Harry’s shoulders. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the world for him to voluntarily talk about his friends. He couldn’t even stand to mention their names, to face that deep, dark void inside himself that had grown exponentially larger with each loss. He curled his fingers into his shirt, knotting them in the fabric briefly before prying them away, managing to cast Tom another grin.

 

“What’s so ill-fitting about my clothes? I didn’t even get these ones from my cousin.” He reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle; it was getting late and he didn’t want to sleep with it on. It always left nasty red marks on his hips. “To be honest, the wizarding world hasn’t changed much. It’s kind of, uh… stagnant. I mean, life gets slightly better for wizards and witches with muggle blood? But otherwise it’s about the same.”

 

Sliding his belt out of its loops, he threw it on top of his cloak.

 

“S’ not like that in the muggle world. They’re always creating things to compensate for a lack of magic. I think our ministry should try introducing computers, honestly - that’s a muggle invention, great for information storage. If we’d done that Voldemort wouldn’t have been able to destroy all the muggleborn records in the ministry.”

 

A pause, and then he said, “Oh, yeah. That happened. So I guess things got slightly better for muggleborns, and then the worse they’ve ever been once the second war started. There was a lot of opposition, though, so there’s that.”

 

He frowned, balancing his mead on his thigh.

“This mead is making me tired. I should probably go to bed soon. Or, well… settee, since I’m not sleeping in the bed.”

 

Xx

 

There was something rather particular about the silence coming from Harry. Tom was about to try his best to break it when he realized that seemed to be fiddling around with his clothing. The smile Harry shot in his direction made Tom breathe a sigh of relief that Tom hadn’t realized he was holding in.

 

Tom watched with finicky distaste as Harry pulled off his belt without a second thought, tossing it carelessly with his cloak _(which contained Tom’s wand. Oh God, if he could just get that wand back…)_

 

“Your sense of fashion is atrocious. You look like you’re homeless.  I mean, technically, we are both homeless, but still!” Tom persisted, tugging at the sleeve of Harry’s shirt if only to feel the fabric. “It’s as though you’ve never even tried to make yourself presentable. I mean,” Tom tilted his head as he gave Harry a rather particular look as he reached out to try to pat his hair into some semblance of a style. “I suppose, I will just have to make the effort and find _something_ to dress you in. You’re impossible. I think you’d look rather nice if you’d just try it. I don’t care what Batman does, you are not walking around with your underwear over your pants. That’s just insulting.” Tom commented mischievously, biting his bottom lip to hold back laughter.

 

Tom withdrew, settling his hands on his lap, wrapping his fingers around the base of the glass and feeling the cool liquid within slowly growing warm with his body heat. Or perhaps it was his body heat that was seeping away so he could become cold once again. When Harry spoke of the future, he did so as though he were pulling off a particularly nasty bandage, laughing at how little the wound had healed before quickly covering it up once again. It was the same way one complains bitterly about getting too much homework or having stubbed one’s toe, but it was infinitely worse. Tom could see plainly, even through most of a bottle of wine. The pain had left him numb.

And he still can’t tell between me and the Voldemort he changed history to erase.

 

“Of course.” Tom replied softly, understanding Harry’s exhaustion. He had saved both of their lives today (and had a rather hefty amount of mead). On top of that, he didn’t need to read minds to know exactly what he was thinking. Harry didn’t want to put himself, quite literally, in bed with the enemy. It was a smart tactical move. Tom stared down into his half empty glass of wine, the deep red of the color swimming before his eyes, his father’s scream lingered somewhere in the background, sounding strikingly like an air raid siren.

 

Tom delicately set the glass down and lifted himself carefully from his seat, taking great efforts to step away from the heightened table without tripping on the legs. He nearly succeeded, only stumbling slightly and catching himself easily. He glanced back at Harry to find him sneering and laughing. Tom’s pale skin slightly blushed clearly bashful at his misstep, realizing that he was unwilling to voice what he was thinking.

 

_The bed looks cold. I don’t want to be there._

 

“Good night.” Tom commented, failing for the first time in ages to make himself sound confident.

 

Xx

 

Harry couldn’t deny that he looked homeless. While his shirt and jeans were form-fitting, an improvement from what he’d been forced to wear in his youth, they were so worn and dirty that they might as well have been scavenged from the dump. He wasn’t about to be self-conscious about them, though; he’d been seen in far worse states than this.

 

“I’ll buy some new clothes tomorrow, then,” he said, swatting Tom’s hand away. His hair wasn’t going to flatten itself no matter what Tom did to it. Even magical influence wasn’t enough to make it behave. “I’ll even let you help me.”

 

Knowing Tom, he’d end up wearing Slytherin colors. He’d have to try to sneak in some red or blue so he wouldn’t be head to toe in green and silver.

 

As Tom stood to depart the couch, Harry lifted his legs onto the now-unoccupied seat and tucked in his limbs, curling in on himself like a puppy in a basket. The room was warm enough to make a quilt unnecessary. He jerked his head up when Tom tripped, looking all the more like a dog – Sirius would have been proud – and couldn’t help but laugh at the blush that rose on his pale cheeks.

 

“G’night, Tom,” he said, lowering his head back to his arms. “Feel free to wake me up if you need anything.” He didn’t expect Tom would. After – three? Glasses of wine, Tom would probably sleep like a rock through the night.

 

Xx

 

Harry looked strikingly young as he curled up on the couch. Not to imply that he was 'childish’, but he seemed serene and carefree as he got himself ready for sleep. In addition, the way he curled up implied that he was all too familiar with the notion of sleeping wherever and whenever. Of course, the copious amounts of mead probably helped as well.

 

The sneer that Tom had been expecting at his expense never came. In fact, Harry laughed easily, as though sharing some particularly close joke just between the two of them, or perhaps even relief that he had not tripped flat on his face in his _clearly_ inebriated state. Tom stood, looking down on him as he spoke, his eyes squinted blearily as he tried to comprehend his own sluggish thoughts and the tightness of panic which was knotting his abdomen.

 

_Why are you smiling that way when you never wanted me here to begin with? Didn’t you want to break me?_

 

Tom felt anger rise suddenly, burning brightly and unreasonably hot. His blush faded and instead of returning to his usual pale tone, he was ashen.  Tom’s eyebrows drew together as his muddled thoughts blurred his mind with alcohol and a touch of fear. He eased himself back on to the bed. Somehow his fingertips were already feeling cold again. _Why was Harry doing this? Why was he treating him so nicely? What had he to gain?_

 

One day had taken them from merely co-existing, to a deadly air raid and finally to a meal shared over far too alcohol with several statements that Tom knew he would regret. All the while, Tom had no wand, no money, no control and Harry was providing all of his safety and sustenance at the cost of everything he had once considered important.

 

His goals seemed far away. Fear of death lingered, tasting like bile in the back of his throat as he eased himself down. The screams of his father threatened to burst in his skull like a wailing siren when suddenly all Tom could think about were the stars, shining piercingly from the velvet sky.

 

He remembered Harry’s imploring expression, the sight of his mouth moving but not hearing the words. He could have been saying anything. Anything at all.


	3. The Knights of Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( This is a compilation of a roleplay between myself (https://riddlemostpowerful.tumblr.com/) and HeroComplexing (http://herocomplexing.tumblr.com/). I played Tom, while my companion played Harry. Their writing is incredible, and I would highly recommend that you follow them.
> 
> My sweet, adorable buddy Grace Lee (https://darklorddiscourse.tumblr.com/) collected most of the posts together for me, so I owe her a huge thanks. She's an incredible writer as well. 
> 
> My goodness, I'm so floored by the support that I've gotten on this fanfic. Thank you so much, everybody! :) I've been giving some serious thought as to how I'm going to end this storyline recently. I know what parts of the story are most important to me, but I'm curious about what parts of this story are most compelling to you, as a reader. If you could please take a moment to complete the following statement for me in the comments, I'd be so very grateful:
> 
> "I read this story because..." or "I am most interested in..." 
> 
> If you don't have time to comment or leave kudos, I completely understand and I thank you for reading through this anyway. Please take care! ))

The alcohol was quick to lull Harry to sleep. It wasn’t as rejuvenating a slumber as it would have been, were he sober, and it was further disturbed by dreams of the war. He couldn’t combat the assault of memories of Remus and Fred and Ron and Hermione, of their slack faces and vacant eyes; he couldn’t force them into the recesses of his mind like he did when he was awake. Even in his dreams he was never able to be the savior his friends had needed. Voldemort was always there to stop him before he could deflect the fatal attack, and perhaps this was his minds way of protecting him from waking up and believing, for just a moment, he had managed to save them. If was fortunate he had consumed enough alcohol to render him motionless throughout the night. He emitted a few sounds, a whimper, a mumble, but there was no movement to indicate he was having a nightmare.

 

Surprisingly, he awoke the next morning with memories of Ginny at the forefront of his mind. He faintly recalled the sensation of her long fingers running up his forearms and the press of her soft, pink lips on his own as he opened his eyes, skin tingling and goose pimpled as though she really had been there. His cheeks were hot when he reached up to touch them.

 

He spent some time staring up at the ceiling before he was able to will himself to stand. The rest of the day was uneventful. As promised, he took Tom out clothes shopping and bought himself something fashionable so Tom wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with him in public. It was a nice thick black cloak with green silk sewn into the inside. He brought himself a blue sweater vest and a formal ensemble of dress pants, shoes, and a shirt to wear underneath.

 

They remained in the village for the additional three days before Harry set up camp on the fringe of a nearby forest. It was warm enough for other people to have the same idea, so there were neighbors on either side of them. Harry had introduced himself to them as ‘Harry Riddle’; it seemed easier than trying to explain why a sixteen year old and a man in his early twenties (soon to be twenty three) were sharing a tent. Harry didn’t mention that his birthday would be soon. He had no intention of celebrating it.

 

It was nearing the end of July when Harry finally decided it time to take Tom to Diagon Alley. He’d promised Tom books, after all, and he had yet to make good on that promise. They made a bee-line for Flourish and Blotts upon arriving, and Harry handed Tom a pouch full of galleons before they stepped inside. “Buy as many books as you want,” he said, elbowing the door open. The owner, a portly man with a broad smile, looked up from a list he was examining as they entered. Harry waved a hand in greeting.

 

“We’ll get some lunch after,” he continued. “If you need some new robes, we can get those too. Can’t have you wearing the same thing day after day.”

 

Xx

 

Their first night at the Three Broomsticks seemed ages in the past now, but Tom could still remember with striking clarity the flashes he had gotten of Harry’s dreams.  The wine had knocked him out for only a few short hours before he found himself dizzyingly awake once again, and not quite sober yet either but certainly not sloshed. Being that he was not making eye contact or casting the spell itself, he was relying on his inherent ability to read one’s thoughts, which was unpredictable at best without a wand to channel it. Dead bodies littered Harry’s dreams, with pale, lifeless eyes that were too lovingly defined for him not to have known them in life.

 

This would explain why Harry had traveled back in time alone. Whatever Tom’s future self had done, he had done so with  _ deadly _ precision.

 

Tom could not stand the sight of another dead figure after their already traumatizing experiences that day. His abilities were clumsy in his still inebriated state as he clung to something, anything more pleasant than memory of a rotting corpse.  The sensation he found in response had been foreign, like a sunrise caught perpetually upon cresting over land. It felt…warm. Not hot, or hungry or burning like the power that continually smoldered within him, looking for release. It was just soft and warm and easy.  Tom held to that thought, that feeling, with all his might as he gradually felt his anxiety ebb away.

 

The next morning, he felt remarkably pristine, despite the fact that he had not showered yesterday. Strange.

 

The time following had been interesting.  If Tom was going to be entirely honest with himself, they had been an adventure of sorts.  Comfortable. Being raised in a city and within a city for most of his life thus far, the prospect of being out camping had not been a pleasant one until he actually just ‘gave it a go’. Surprisingly, he hadn’t minded it in the slightest. Magic, of course, made their tent much more hospitable than his expectation, and their neighbors were just as dense and friendly as he and Harry needed them to be.  They never questioned the fact that two young men were randomly camping by the edges of Hogsmeade for the summer months. Perhaps they had assumed that this was some sort of holiday for the both of them, or maybe that they were brothers (Tom and Harry did look strikingly alike at times), but they graciously had not deemed it proper to be asking questions.

 

Tom could have cried for joy when Harry finally gave into his nagging that they needed to get new reading material for him. Perhaps the fact that Harry had found him trying to nick books from their unsuspecting neighbors had been a sign that he should probably make good on his promise. There was also the fact that there were school books to be bought and supplies to be re-filled before the new academic year began.

 

Was Tom even going to be going to school? Damned, if he knew.

 

Either way, the duo had seen fit to go shopping. Taking the small bag of golden coins from Harry, he quirked an eyebrow at him. “Well,  _ Mr. Riddle _ .” He began, smirking down at Harry. “I’m glad to see you’ve finally decided that I need new distractions. I will be certain to find-” 

 

“Tom?” Said a young man’s voice behind him.

 

Tom recognized the voice before even deeming it appropriate to greet him. Within a heartbeat of a moment, Tom’s entire stance seemed to shift from grinning down at Harry, joking and teasing him fondly, to settling into a calm, composed demeanor. He turned to smoothly face the newcomer.

 

“Afternoon, Lestrange.” He greeted, his voice as even as his composure. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

 

Lestrange was a slight lad with limbs a bit too long for his growing body to handle in a way that was not clumsy. Yet he smiled with surprising fondness as Tom greeted him. Lestrange adjusted his black robes as though displaying them. “I’m just here getting my school gear. I didn’t expect to see you at all.” He continued.

 

“That’s why it’s called a ’ _ surprise _ ’, Lestrange.” Tom sighed.

 

“Right you are, as usual.  Dolohov!” Lestrange cried out. “Dolohov, you’re not going to believe who’s here!” He continued, looking up at Tom admiringly.

 

“Is that Tom, I heard?” Called a disembodied voice from their left.

 

“No, it’s the bloody Minister for Magic.  _ Of course it’s Tom _ !”

 

Dolohov emerged briskly from the rows of books. On the shorter side, he stepped speedily along as though trying to make up for lost distance. He carelessly knocked several stacks of books aside on his way.  "Aha!  It is you! Rather early in the shopping season to see you along these ways.” He said in a voice which seemed so accustomed to speaking quickly that he blurred the words together into a casual slur. His wide smile did nothing to soften the wicked glint in his deep brown eyes. "How have you been, Tom? You look like you’ve lost weight.” He asked, giving Tom an appraising look.

 

“I am quite well.” Tom answered smoothly. He is voice seemed to command attention even when he spoke softly. “It’s been a very busy summer. As usual.” He gave Dolohov a look of pointed annoyance. “Don’t be a child. Clean it up.” Tom gave a small gesture to the books strewn across the floor in Dolohov’s wake. The other boy groaned softly before dragging himself back to the row he exited from, picking up his mess as he went. Tom turned back to Lestrange. “What brings the both of you here?”

 

“Walpurga was taking her brothers shopping. She decided to bring us along for company.” Lestrange shrugged easily, his pristinely kept black robes falling neatly into place, a clear sign of custom tailoring. “I think she had been hoping to catch  _ you _ here if she had us  _ Knights _ along. She’s up by the register now.” 

 

Tom barely had a chance to roll his eyes in response before Dolohov rejoined their small group, now giving Harry the same appraising glance and unreadable smile. “This is Harry.” Tom motioned to his companion, giving him a small nod as though he deserved their approval. They followed suit, looking to him with attentive interest. “He’s been teaching me a great deal about survival and combat magic.” He turned to Harry now that he seemed satisfied with the rapt attention and consideration that was given to him. “Harry, this is Antonin Dolohov and Arcturus Lestrange.” He continued, gesturing to each of them in turn.

 

Xx

 

While Tom was occupied with his friends, Harry attempted to merge with the shadows cast by the bookshelves. Much to his chagrin, Tom introduced him before he could reach them. He knew his smile was strained as he turned to address the boys.

 

“Nice to meet you,” he said, as polite as ever.

The tallest of the boys – Lestrange – regarded his messy hair with a creased brow. He self-consciously tucked some of it behind an ear. “Nice to meet you too, mister…?” Lestrange offered Harry his hand, and Harry took it, giving it a firm shake. Dolohov followed suit. “Not a Longbottom, are you Harry? I wouldn’t admit that right away either.” Dolohov snorted at this comment. Harry knew it was a rhetorical question. Neither of them were actually expecting Harry to be a Longbottom; they were trying to draw him into their little group with derision at a ‘blood traitor’. However friendly their intentions, Harry’s expression still went cold.  

 

“If I were, I wouldn’t be ashamed of it.” He had a great deal of respect for the Longbottom’s. “The Longbottom’s are an honorable family. They shouldn’t be the punch line of your joke.”

 

“Oh. I didn’t realize you were friends,” said Lestrange stiffly. He seemed affronted by Harry’s lack of comradery. 

 

Dolohov piqued up with a, “What family are you from, then?”

 

“I’m not pureblood, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

 

“I…I see.” Lestrange’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as turned to speak to Tom. “You didn’t hire a  _ mudblood _ , did you? If you needed a teacher I would have gladly provided some reputable names.”

 

The boys were now visibly indignant at having a mudblood – even one hand-picked by Tom – speak to them as though they were children. This was  _ exactly _ why Harry had wanted to flee at the sight of them. He’d know this would happen. He pissed off pureblood supremacists and pureblood supremacists pissed off him; it was the natural order of things

 

“Well, this has been a great chat,  _ really  _ great, but I ought to be going. I’ll see you at the parlor, Tom.” He turned as he spoke, reaching for the exit, and bumped into a solid mass before he could pass through the threshold. The sight of who he’d bumped into gave Harry a pause. Not because they were clearly a very rich, regal man, but because their appearance was so reminiscent of Sirius’ that it was uncanny.

 

From the back of the room the store owner crowed a greeting. “Lord Black, so good to have your patronage-!”

 

“I’m not here for that, Pernickle,” said the man, his grey eyes rapt on Harry. “I came to inform Lestrange and Dolohov here that lunch will be starting soon, but imagine my surprise when I see they’re being harassed by a  _ mudblood _ . Are you going to allow such a things to happen in your store, Pernickle?”

 

“Er, of course not-!”

 

“I was just leaving,” Harry interjected, jutting his chin up at the man. “If you would  _ kindly _ move out of the way, I’ll do just that.”

 

Black’s lips pursed. “The days your lot were made to wait outside while a better quality of patronage shopped were so much more palatable. You people are forgetting your place.”

 

“It’s right here, and the wizarding world is starting to acknowledge that so you ought to try doing the same, Lord Black.” He maneuvered his way around Black and made a hasty exit. Dolohov, Lestrange, and Lord Black turned their attention on Tom once he had fled the scene, and while Dolohov and Lestrange seemed – as they ought to – rather uncomfortable with what they had just witnessed, Black’s expression was one of barely restrained fury. The smile he presented Tom was so tight as to almost look like a grimace.

 

“Always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Riddle. Will you be joining us for lunch? Perhaps you could regale us with the tale of what it is you’ve been up to this summer.”

 

Xx

 

Tom wasn’t aware that Harry was German. Frankly, that had to be the only reason he had decided to bomb Tom’s entire cover.

 

Damnit, Harry.

 

It was a testament to Tom’s skill at keeping his carefully constructed composure that he even managed to stay silent through the entirety of the disjointed conversation. Before he had been able to jump in and lie on Harry’s behalf about his last name, Harry charged in with a tactless statement and his own brand of righteous idiocy before almost managing to end that horrifying display by storming off.

 

And directly into Arcturus Black.

 

In a rather grand show of standing, Arcturus verbally faced off with Harry in an exchange which left neither of them looking startlingly well, but perhaps Black just a touch worse for wear. He certainly seemed to be steaming at the ears when he turned his attention to Tom, gritting his teeth and asking for an explanation through a thin veneer of politeness. 

 

“Yes, Tom!  What was all that? He sounds like a right crusader for all their disgusting breed!” Dolohov muttered darkly.

 

“Are you sure you’re quite well?” Lestrange added softly, tilting his head in concern at Tom. “You look paler than usual, I think.” He added, taking a look at his hand and then Tom again, as if comparing or tempted to reach out and touch his head to test the temperature.

 

“Tom, how could you allow yourself to be around such individuals?” Black added, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

 

“Lord Black.” Tom looked deeply relieved to speak with him. He looked at the older man imploringly. “I hope you’ll forgive my companion. He’s not quite…right in the head. A descendent of the Bullstrode line, and you know how spirited they can be when  _ disciplining _ their children, particularly at a young age. If you look closely, you can still see the scars on his head.” Tom expanded, pity clear in his voice as he shook his head slowly, looking deeply troubled. “So much promise in his abilities, if he could only get himself straight, you understand? Please let me handle this situation. I’ll be sure to explain to him in  _ vivid _ detail what is proper behavior, Lord Black.”

 

Lord Black’s proud features seemed to soften minutely appeased with Tom’s humility and careful choice of words. Tom gave him a gracious nod before murmuring, “Thank you. As always, your wisdom and understanding is appreciated.” 

 

Lord Black nodded and moved past Tom and the boys without a second glance to find Walpurga and her brothers. Tom had half a mind to retreat to the door, but his two companions did not seem to be even half as fooled by Tom’s reasoning as the ‘lord’ that had just passed them by.

 

Tom didn’t panic. He could always try abandoning Harry. He could pin the entire outburst on his caretaker, claiming he had no idea that  _ Harry was such a fool to believe in such values!  Tom should leave him immediately and rejoin his fellows here. _  This of course, presented the impossibility of leaving Harry completely, which would render him quite dead due to the vows. Scratch that.

 

“Not right in the head, eh? Now that I’m thinking on it, your friend was acting very particular from the moment we saw you, backing away and all that.” Dolohov chuckled, his wicked grin returning easily. “Trying to escape, maybe?”

 

“Don’t be an idiot, Dolohov.” Lestrange snapped. “Though, I’m curious as to where you met him. Really, I could have connected you with-”

 

“Maybe we should hunt him down for a good thumping, eh? Beat the sense back into him?” Dolohov gave a bark of laughter. 

 

“But Tom, what’s going on? Really! This is absolutely crazy. You must return with my family, have a good lie in. If he was as mad as you say, you shouldn’t have ever let him be around you.” Lestrange fettered on, worrying the edges of his sleeves.

 

“ **Gentlemen** .” Tom began, loud enough to knock them from their conversation and snap their attention to the sliver of anger in his tone. “I would have thought that each of you would have performed better, but you have all failed me.  And when I spoke so highly of you both…” Tom trailed, looking in disappointment at each of them in turn.  Their silence settled into confused glances at one another.

 

“Harry had said that none of you would be able to detect his lies, and he was correct. Both of you fell into his trap without even sensing that there was something amiss. Without even trying to read your opponent and not just his words.” Tom glared icily forward, his dark eyes boring into Dolohov and then Lestrange viciously, their resolve was rapidly shrinking in Tom’s wake. Each of them knew personally what happened when Tom was displeased.

 

“He claimed that even my most talented friends would question me at the first chance they had, and as it turns out, he was absolutely right.” Dolohov coughed uncomfortably, his wicked smile becoming a sheepish, sweaty grin, Lestrange looked overwhelmingly uncomfortable, as though he had swallowed something particularly spiny. The pain that came with failure was not a memory which either of them would soon forget. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,  _ gentlemen _ , I must go clean up after the lot of you. Yet again.” Tom finished angrily before smoothly moving around the group and retreating from the store.

 

Tom rushed off to find Harry at the parlor. He urgently grabbed the other man by the arm. “We’re leaving immediately. We’ll have to return another time for supplies. If they find us-” He broke off with a frustrated huff, shaking his head and glaring at Harry. 

 

“Come on, let’s go!"

 

Xx

 

Harry had bought himself a vanilla ice-cream cone with chopped nuts, caramel sauce, and a perpetually moving pinwheel stuck into its side. He was rather sad to have that ice-cream jolted out of his hand when Tom grabbed him. Frowning down at the splatter of white, pink, and orange on the sidewalk, he tried to shake Tom off his arm.

“What’re you going on about? It’s just a bunch of your friends. They won’t do anything to cause a scene, and even if they  _ tried _ …”

 

Harry was a fully seasoned wizard. If they approached him with the intention of inflicting harm, he’d be able to deal with them with ease. Lord Black, on the other hand… he glanced over his shoulder, and it just so happened that Lord Black was standing at the exit to Flourish and Blotts, peering across at Tom and Harry. When he noticed Harry noticing him, he smiled in the same wide, toothy way Bellatrix often had, his grey eyes alight with  _ malice _ . That was  _ not _ the expression of someone who intended to let bygones be bygones.

 

“Er, you know what? I’ve changed my mind.” Now it was him grabbing Tom by the arm, dragging him bodily along in the direction of the fireplaces. “Let’s floo to Hogsmeade. I think there’s a place there that lets you borrow books to read while you eat. You won’t be able to take them home-” That comment doubled as a warning. “But it’s better than nothing, right?”

 

Xx

 

“Arcturus Black.” Tom’s voice was weighted with frustration and anger as he sensed the fear in Harry’s voice more than heard it. “You certainly know how to choose your enemies. I could have saved you from a slip up with the dynamic duo, Dolohov and Lestrange, but insulting an elder of the Black family is a mistake.” Tom finished heavily, walking briskly along with Harry, allowing the other man to lead him, all the while thinking of different ways for them to escape the mess that Harry had currently gotten him into. (He had to admit, he was rather sorry that he wasn’t able to get an ice cream. That one Harry had dropped looked heavenly.)

 

Giving away his blood status and deeply rooted beliefs would make it incredibly hard for Tom to explain his current situation to those at school. Up until that point, all of his beliefs had been gaining power, ensuring immortality and pureblood supremacy. Most of that triad had been put on indefinite hold thanks to the green-eyed wonder boy at his side, and he had hardly any time to consider exactly how that would affect his time at school until this very second. Survival had been his prime concern, but now the rest of his life up until that point was coming back to slap him in the face.

 

This was simply a small taste of the creative dodging he would have to be doing when he returned. Oh, damn it all.

 

“I would never dream of taking the books home, Harry.” Tom lied smoothly, trying not to cast a glance over his shoulder, trying not to feel the impending sense of doom that was the mental presence of Arcturus Black, boring down at them from Flourish and Blotts, wearing that mad smile like a cat who has found two lame mice to stalk after. Tom could smell insanity on him almost as strongly as he sensed his power. In retrospect, Black might have been able to say much the same about Tom.

 

One thing was certain. Tom and Harry were getting the hell out of there. When they finally reached the fireplaces, Tom looked expectantly at Harry. “To Hogsmeade then?” He asked with an increasing sense of urgency.

 

Xx

 

“So I was just supposed to stand there and let him belittle me?” Fat chance. Harry reserved polite behaviour for those who deserved it, and Lord Black shared a category with Lucius Malfoy as deserving nothing but derision. Both were (or had been, in Lucius’ case) adults too stuck in their ways to change. Tom’s friends, on the other hand, were young enough to benefit from a positive influence in their life. Harry had no intention of guiding them to the extent he was Tom, but he wouldn’t shy away from telling them when they were in the wrong.

 

He reached into his cloak for the floo powder. Though still deep, the pockets of this cloak weren’t enchanted, so it didn’t take him long to dig out the correct pouch. He grabbed a handful of powder and reached for the nearest vacant fireplace. Some were labelled in, and some out; you didn’t want to step into the wrong one or you would end up being squashed by arrivals.

 

Behind them he could sense Arcturus Black’s pursuit starting to slow, his electric presence developing into a steady, patient thrum. Apparently he had come to the realization he wouldn’t be able to reach Tom and Harry before they used the floo network. Harry wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he threw his powder into their chosen fireplace and shouted their destination, “Hogsmeade”, and proceeded into the flames with Tom at his heels. He maintained a tight grip on Tom until several minutes after arriving in Hogsmeade, wanting to be ready to flee if Lord Black decided to pop out of the fire after them.

Thankfully, he didn’t.

 

“Doesn’t make much of an effort to hide the fact he’s a creep, does he?” Harry smiled in an effort to lighten the mood. They were safe now. “But I suppose he’s rich enough not to have to bother.”

 

Xx

 

There was just a bit too much movement going on for Tom to answer.  He was finally far away enough from the presence of Lord Black to cast his glance around to check for pursuers. Lord Black had been powerful enough to sense his mental presence, like a cloyingly static electric charge that left the tinge of ozone in its wake, but his fellow students and ‘Knights’ were not nearly powerful enough to cast the same sensations.  If they were close on Tom and Harry’s heels, Tom’s best chance of stopping an attack was to keep them in their sights and physically avoid them.

 

Yet again, they seemed to have dodged a bullet for the first time in ages. No one seemed to be particularly concerned with their presence. Tom felt himself being yanked forward by his companion.

After hurtling through the Floo network, gripping Harry’s hand tightly, they exited in a flurry of ash and soot, casting paranoid glances behind them as Tom straightened his robes and dusted himself off. He fixed his hair as he followed along at Harry’s side, rolling his eyes in distaste at the fact that the other man didn’t seem at all concerned with the mess on his brand new robes. With a disgruntled huff, he set himself to dusting off the shoulders of the shorter man, and then his back.

 

“ _ Yes! That’s precisely what you should have done. _ He’s an idiot, Harry!” Tom explained. “Even if you had just left him to spout what he would, he would have been satisfied, and you would have had the upper hand if a battle were to happen between you. He would have assumed himself unparalleled on the field of combat because he was left with the impression that he had won previously, and you would have been able to catch him by surprise and destroy him.” Tom explained, clearly exasperated, as though he were explaining that a square peg goes into a square hole. “Harry, you must learn to think ahead! You can rest assured that  _ each of them were _ . Lord Black assumes that I’m an intelligent pawn he can plant in the Ministry later. I let him do so because it has served my purposes thus far. He knows nothing of my skills!”  _ Or family background.  H _ is stomach gave an uncomfortable twist out of anxiety. Or he might just be hungry. That too.

 

Xx

 

Harry slid his hands into his pockets, a frown marking his forehead. He felt rather like a chastised child, and it didn’t help that Tom was fretting over his appearance like a mother hen. “How was I supposed to know all that? I thought he’d whine about me to his family and move on. Didn’t know he’d want to  _ attack _ me. It’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

 

He anxiously gnawed on the inside of his cheek and only stopped once he had drawn blood. Sucking it into his throat, he turned to guide Tom into the nearby library-café. A bowl of soup and a hot mug of butterbeer would calm their nerves.

“We’ll go back early tomorrow, just before opening time. We won’t be disturbed that way,” Harry said, and then withdrew his wand, performing a simple cleaning spell to fix their robes. He didn’t want the soot to smudge. These were the only clean robes he had and he needed them to be presentable when he started going in for job interviews.

 

“By the way,” he continued, because he didn’t really want to have to talk about his failings. “I’ll be looking around for work soon. Once I have a steady job we should be able to rent a cabin.”

 

Xx

 

“No. It wasn’t a bit much. Harry, you don’t understand these people. Half of them are not quite hinged and they’re teaching their children to be just as mad.” Tom elaborated with a sigh of exasperation. “You may think that the reason that most of them join with the Knights is that they believe in pureblood ideals, and yes, that certainly is part of it.” He paused, as if trying to think of the best wording.

 

“But, a huge aspect of their loyalty is all tied in being a part of something greater, something powerful that makes them feel special or appreciated. It’s an aspect that their families never provided, no matter how proud of them they might have been. All they can depend on from people like Lord Black is unfulfilled expectations and constant anxiety to overachieve. I offered them purpose and power.” Tom seemed more pensive as he followed along with Harry. It was almost as though he seemed to wake from a daze when Harry cleaned their robes, not to say he wasn’t grateful for the gesture.

 

“I could have done that from the beginning if you would just give me my wand back.” He reminded Harry for what must have been the hundredth time, giving him a beautiful, compliant smile. When they entered the library, Tom was instantly distracted from his hunger by the presentation of books. Glorious books, of every shape and size, hiding in corners, stacked up on tables, lining the walls in the back of the establishment. He tried not to look too eager as he darted to the back to explore the possibilities presented.

 

He returned with a stack that nearly reached up to his neck.  He set it down gingerly on a table before pulling the top one off to give to Harry:  _ Quidditch, The Sport and the Culture _ . Somehow he knew even without mentally reading him on this subject, a Gryffindor of his build and attitude must be a jock of some variety. There was even something in the purposeful way he walked that seemed to speak to his athletics. “I could be such a big help to you. I could even get myself a job as well, you know.”

 

Xx

 

“It’s a little late to be telling me that now,” he replied, trying not to sound petulant. “Don’t worry about it. He’s not going to do anything to you, is he? And I can look after myself.” Harry was determined not to let Lord Black’s thirst for retribution bother him. If he could deal with Voldemort for over a decade, he could deal with an over-zealous pureblood.

 

While Tom was busy taking his pick of literature, Harry ordered them a jug of butterbeer and two bowls of steaming hot chicken and vegetable soup. The table he chose for them was squashed into a corner, directly behind a bookshelf. It provided no leg room, but the armchairs were comfortable enough to make up for that. He accepted the offered book and sat down with his legs tucked beneath his thighs, like he had occasionally done during winter in the Gryffindor common room.

 

The subject of Tom’s wand was one he had been avoiding. Typically when it was brought up, he would grunt or shrug or offer some other noncommittal gesture. That didn’t discourage Tom, evidently.

 

“It’d be pointless for you to get one so close to the new school year. You’d be back at school before you could finish orientation.” He put his book aside and reached into his robe pocket, groping around briefly before coming up with Tom’s wand. It felt at home in his hand. “As for this, you’re going to need a wand for school, so I might as well give it to you now rather than later.” He extended it to Tom. “It currently recognizes me as its owner, however, so if you decide to try anything…” A beat of silence. “I’ll let you disarm me before you go back to school, of course.”

 

Xx

 

Could Lord Black do anything to him?   _ Interesting question _ .

 

Technically, the law directly prevented Lord Black from even thinking of harming Tom due to his age, but there was nothing keeping him from hounding his every step. Now that he had a scent of something suspicious, he would not want his prime candidate for ‘political’ control to be sullied by anything that might even seem like an 'extremist’ mentality, let alone a half-blooded one. Harry was virtually unknown in every standard, mostly because he didn’t legally exist in their time period. Tom was very much a viable target. Being that Tom was also in a state of vulnerability and unable to perform magic to defend himself (being captured as well as being 'underage’ in the eyes of the Ministry), he was at a severe disadvantage.

 

Would Lord Black try anything?  Tom paused, closing his eyes as his thoughts worked quickly, trying to see the plans forming within the darkness of his mind.

 

No, not immediately. The information that had slipped with their chance meeting could only be useful in the correct setting. To confront him out where no one was there to witness it would serve no purpose aside from making Lord Black look like an adult physically assaulting a teenager. He would wait until he could corner him with words, rather than weapons, where he knew he could be surrounded by like-minded individuals, probably back at school.

 

Tom swallowed hard.  Suddenly his true home, Hogwarts, was looking a great deal more sinister than it ever had before. If his followers were to turn on him there, who did he have left to depend on? If they found out about his father, his family, his real bloodline…

 

Harry’s reluctance to let him get a job was understandable, but he felt his stomach make another tight knot of anxiety at the thought of having to return to school. He eased himself into the cozy corner seat which Harry had chosen for the two of them, trying to calm his panicked thoughts when he looked down at something which he never would have thought to expect, Harry handing over his wand. 

 

He blinked before rather eagerly taking the weapon back, smiling a bit too widely and excitedly before training himself back into his usual cool composure. There was certainly a part of him that resented the warning but curiosity and concern overtook it quickly. Wand allegiances?  How did Harry swap it from him?  Could he possibly own two wands?

 

Tom leaned close to Harry, speaking in a low, conspiratorial whisper. “How did you steal its allegiance?” He asked, running his fingertips fondly over the wood with a touch of concern as though it may need healing somehow. “Was it…the  _ vows _ ?”

 

Xx

 

At Tom’s question, Harry shook his head. The vows had nothing to do with it. He’d won the wand from Tom when he’d disarmed him. The use of  _ expelliarmus _ typically wasn’t enough to change the alliance of a wand, but Harry retained footsteps of Tom’s very soul and was the owner of its brother; it was inevitable that it would regard him as an acceptable owner.  

 

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t steal anything. It willingly aligned with me.” That was an important distinction to make. “Wands have personalities, and yours… well, I guess it likes me. Not all wands are like that, mind. Some of them have higher standards-”

 

“Your drink, sirs!” 

 

He turned to the source of the voice, and a perky blonde waitress was smiling dazzlingly at them. It was such a pretty smile that Harry immediately started to feel self-conscious about how he was sitting, awkwardly pulling his legs out from under himself.

 

“Thanks,” he said while helping her ease the jug onto the table. She managed the glasses by herself.

 

“And thank you,” she replied, sending her tray floating back to the kitchens. “I believe I’ve seen you two around here before. Is that your brother?”

 

Harry glanced at Tom. “Oh, no, I’m his - older cousin. My names Harry Riddle, and this is Tom.” He gestured to Tom, which was rather unnecessary, but Harry wasn’t exactly the most suave person in the world when it came to women. He wasn’t the most suave person in the  _ room _ , for that matter. “He’s going to be starting his last year at Hogwarts soon,” he continued. “Proud Slytherin, this one.”

 

“Ohh, I went there myself! I was a Hufflepuff.” The lady cast Tom a broad grin. “Good luck on your N.E.W.T.s! They’re absolutely horrid, but you look a smart chap. I’m sure you’ll do fine.” She gave Harry a friendly nudge. “And make sure to send him plenty of letters! Having something to read that isn’t exam related keeps you sane.”

 

“Of course. I’ll be sending him a letter every fortnight.” Her bright personality was absolutely infectious. If there was a vacancy, perhaps he could work here. That would be nice. “Say, would I be able to talk to you after work?”

 

“Oh.” She blinked owlishly. “Well, um…”

 

“Er, I mean-! Not-!” Harry’s felt warmth spreading across his face and neck. “What I meant to say was-!”

 

“No, don’t panic. It’s alright,” the lady interrupted, laughing warmly and squeezing his shoulder. “Come by at seven. We’ll have a drink.”

 

“T-thanks,” Harry stuttered, and proceeded to smile awkwardly until she had tottered off. The moment she was gone, he turned to start pouring them both a glass of butterbeer.

 

“Anyway…” he opened his mouth, and then closed it, brow creasing with a frown. “Wait, what was I saying?”

 

Xx

 

What the hell did that even mean, his wand 'liked’ Harry more?

 

How could a wand prefer someone? How could a wand even think? It was a wooden stick, for Merlin’s sake! All that wands did was perform magic for the user and lie in wait as a weapon and tool for later use. That was its single job, and apparently his wand preferred someone else now?  Feeling incredulous and betrayed he glanced down at the thin, pale wood in his hand and then back up to Harry. 

 

Tom was about to snap at him to accuse him of lying, when a very pretty little interruption meandered up to their table.

 

She smiled daintily, swayed her well-developed little figure, and attracting all of Harry’s idiotic attentions. He could see the blush forming on his tanned cheeks as the girl set the jug of butterbeer down for them both and smiled widely.  Harry tripped adorably over his introduction, gesturing wildly to Tom as though the girl needed to know he was there.

 

“Hufflepuff, hm?  How charming.” Tom commented, casting her a winsome smile, somehow managing to look gracious and confident all at once, even while counting the different ways he wanted to boot her out of their corner. Harry still hadn’t answered about his wand. He needed to tell him about the wand allegiances! 

 

As their conversation dragged on, Tom tried not to shoot a glare at Harry for 'trying his chances’. Incredible!  He should be hitting on the wait staff when they had irate purebloods and wandlore to discuss! If the sustained blush on Harry’s face was anything to speak to, it was the fact that all he could seem to think of was getting this pretty little tart lying down with him as soon as possible. 

 

“Thank you so much for your concern. You’re too kind.”  _ And too easy, wench. Go away now, you disgust me. _

 

He kept smiling easily in her direction until she was finally out of sight.  He turned in a mere second when she was finally gone. “ _ Really _ ? You really think this is the time for you to be planning your next bedside partner? I have to admit that I forgot how good looking you are but that gives you no excuse! You’re worse than Dolohov, and that’s saying something,  _ Harry _ .” He shot him an icy glare. “And what do you mean, my wand 'likes you better’?  It’s my wand.” He hissed in a scathing whisper. “It should like me best! I’m its owner!”

 

Over on the other side of the room, someone’s wooden goblet exploded, sending wine and broken bits of pine flying everywhere. The warlock it belonged to squawked in surprise and embarrassment, rushing to clean up the mess with a spare napkin. Tom huffed angrily, snapping his attention away from the scene. He needed to keep a better hold of his magic. He couldn’t allow his anger to control it.  

 

These things…they had not happened to him since he was so young. Why was this explosive, destructive magic leaking out now?

 

Xx

 

Harry watched the poor, harassed-looking warlock attempt to mop up the mess that had become of his cup. It was only after using up every available napkin that the warlock seemed to remember - oh yeah, I’m magic! And proceeded to magic the mess away with a blush on his cheeks.  Harry might have apologized on Tom’s behalf, but he didn’t want to embarrass Tom. He was already worked up without the having an adult do something as patronizing as apologizing for his behaviour.

 

He awkwardly slid a glass of butterbeer over to Tom’s side of the table. “Most wands can be won, and yours is no exception. It does have its own set of standards, though. It probably wouldn’t align with just any witch or wizard. They have to be- like you, and since I own its brother wand and had your soul in me from the age of one to seventeen, I suppose I’m the best next thing.”

 

He withdrew his hand, cupping it around his own glass of butterbeer. “And I wasn’t – God, Tom, don’t talk that way about women, nor  _ me _ . Not that I’d mind if she wanted to – but the point is, you can’t just assume she would just because she’s pretty. If Ginny were to-” His mouth snapped shut. There was a short pause, and then he continued. “I wasn’t asking with that in mind. I thought this might be a nice place to work. It was sweet of her to turn it into a date, but I’m not really looking for, you know. Commitment. I mean, I’m already committed to you, and you’re a full time job.”

 

Sipping his drink, Harry discreetly peered into the kitchens after the waitress. He really should have asked for her name. If it’d been written on a tag somewhere, he couldn’t recall. He’d been too busy looking at her face to notice the rest of her.

“I should probably try to make some friends, though, even if I don’t get a job here.” He shrugged. “It’ll give me something to do while you’re at school.”

 

Xx

 

Tom kept Harry locked in sight with a piercing glare, making it very clear that it was entirely unacceptable that his wand was no longer considering Tom its master. Though Harry claimed he was no thief, Tom was thinking along a different set of lines and it showed in his frigid tone. Yet, something about knowing that it had been because Harry was similar to Tom that the wand reacted in this way that comforted him just a touch.  Not nearly enough to ease his anger completely, but enough to function without exploding any more of the other patrons’ drinks.

 

“Oh please, Harry. You know she’s going to sleep with you.” He snapped scathingly. “Shall I go for a 'long walk’ this evening while you woo her in our ravishing  _ tent _ ?” He continued bitingly. It felt good to stab at Harry’s clear advances and his innocent look of shock.  His admittance that he was going on a date and being reminded of his pretty little poppet back at his home time only seemed to add fuel to the fire. To have so many romantic ties was quite baffling. Tom would have never thought that someone so well trained in the magic arts would allow themselves to get so roped up in so many triangles. Why was he so damned disappointed in Harry? Why was he so upset? 

 

He took a sip of the butterbeer, more to have something to do with his hands than clench them angrily under the table. Harry’s plan to get a job and his mention of Tom returning to school sent a chill up his spine once again. Lord Black’s mad smile lingered in the back of his mind, as though warning him of what was really at stake here.

 

“Whatever you do end up doing here, Harry, be on your guard.” He stared down at his cup, into the steam coming off of the warm amber liquid with unfocused eyes.  His lips tightened as he began to choose his words carefully, coming to terms with the fact that his school would no longer be as he remembered it. It couldn’t be.

 

Not with filthy blood. Not being the bastard child he knew he was.

 

“If Lord Black is smart, which he is, he’ll take the opportunity to confront me at school. Not necessarily physically, but verbally or even indirectly.” Tom stated casually, softly. What lie could he feed the rest of them so that he could defend himself?  How would he weave his stories to best protect himself? Was it even possible? If he sustained that he was pureblooded, the Knights would continue to push the rather bloody agenda that they had planned for the future. Yet, if he changed his tune about their plans, they would begin to question his power and authority. If he told them the truth, they would surely abandon him.


	4. Of Dreams and Waking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( I want to thank all of you for reading this. Yet again, I'm dumbfounded by the wonderful and thoughtful responses I've been getting from this fanfiction. I would be SO VERY GRATEFUL if you continued to leave comments and kudos on this work. Since this started as a roleplay with a friend, it's up to me now to decide how it ends. While I have some rather promising ideas for the grand finale, I'm still trying to nail down a few different aspects, so it really does help to put things in perspective to see you think is most important and most compelling within this story.
> 
> Just as a reminder, this is a compilation of a roleplay between myself (https://riddlemostpowerful.tumblr.com/) and HeroComplexing (http://herocomplexing.tumblr.com/). I played Tom, while my companion played Harry. Their writing is incredible, and I would highly recommend that you follow them.
> 
> My sweet, adorable buddy Grace Lee (https://darklorddiscourse.tumblr.com/) collected most of the posts together for me, so I owe her a huge thanks. She's always been a huge supporter of all my works, so she really is like the unsung hero of getting this story done. She's an incredible writer as well, so go follow her too! :D ))

Tom was becoming accustomed to filtering through Harry’s dreams.

 

His companion’s subconscious mind was like a horribly realistic picture book. Terribly vivid memories of friends jumped to the forefront, who then morphed into images of lifeless bodies strewn before him, the burning scent of ozone as a deadly spell passed by just a tad bit too close for comfort. All of the sights, the sensations, the sounds filtered through a layer of warped fantasy.

 

Tom had just enough skill to be able to navigate his way through, finding his own familiar path yet able to make no sense of anything at all. A determined red-headed boy’s tear-streaked, freckled face was contorted into a tight grimace as he reached fruitlessly for a girl with singed, brown hair, face down on the ground. Screaming erupted in the distance like the wail of a siren. Tom willed himself away from the seemingly endless horrors of the battlefront. He was not skilled enough, nor powerful enough to effect and shape the subconscious directly…yet.

 

But he knew the path to what he was looking for.  Every night, he retraced his mental path into Harry’s mind, deep within his dreams in order to find it. The lure of hearing about Harry’s relationship on their first night within Hogsmeade was too much of a temptation to completely ignore. It was more of a dare, a lark for Tom at first.   _I wonder if I can even find that memory.  I wonder if he just made it up to make himself look good. I wonder if that kind of feeling was even really possible._

 

Invading Harry’s mind was easy.  He hardly had any protections up against someone delving deep into his thoughts when he was awake. When he was asleep, it was a full motion picture show of grotesque memories, fears and that rare sliver of warmth that Tom was looking for: Harry’s sacred memory of Ginny.

 

Tom found it just as he did every night, and knew the sensation immediately when he felt the warmth envelope him, like sinking slowly into water. It wasn’t just the moment that he was so adamant to find, it was sharing in that sensation. Tom had trouble putting the exact feeling to words. It felt like gold looked, youthful and eternal. It felt like water tasted, necessary and natural. There was a touch of relief, a hint of happiness, a promise of comfort. There was safety here. There was overwhelming fondness for this other body next to him…or next to Harry, rather.

 

It glowed tonight more strongly than it had ever done so before. Tom’s presence settled before the shining memory, his attention rapt to the display, entranced to the point of being hypnotized. Caught in the sensation, the draw, the glow of acceptance, leaning forward, he reached out a single longing hand.

 

Tom knew immediately, it was a mistake.

 

He had crossed the line. He had become complacent, sloppy, foolish, where he should have known to retreat. The memories, the dreams and dystopia of the battlefield came crashing in around him as he yanked his consciousness from the maelstrom with a shuddering gasp. He lay in his bed, shaking, clutching at the sheets, gulping down air and, even despite the mishap, trying desperately to cling at the last of the memory of that warmth.  There was only cold left upon waking.

 

Xx

 

The brilliant warmth that had pervaded Harry’s subconscious receded in an instant. There was laughter pounding through his skull, high and cold, and the stench of dirt and sweat and decay in his nostrils. Vivid flashes of a freckled face and bushy hair surged forward, and Harry was gasping and choking on a stench that wasn’t there, clutching for purchase at imagined surfaces, terrified for all of a moment that everyone was dying or dead or suffering because Harry Potter hadn’t been the hero they had desperately needed.

 

When the flashes of activity finally subsided, he was left sitting on a floral couch, sweating profusely and shaking, his tan-skin so ashen that it was barely distinguishable from the white of bone in the moonlight.

 

It took Harry a tense moment to realize what had just happened, and when he did, colour immediately returned to his face. It was an angry red as he stood from the couch, storming across the room to where Tom sat alert and awake. His hand found the collar of the pinstriped pajama shirt Harry had lent him and yanked him up, out of the comfort of his bed, until their faces were so close that their noses were almost touching. Harry didn’t look angry; he looked _livid_. His face was contorted into a snarl. This wasn’t like the hateful determination exhibited all those weeks ago; compared to this, that had almost been clinical. His composure had been flayed away and the anger beneath was raw and volatile, like the anger of an injured animal holding on like a vice to any fingers that got too close. It looked like he was struggling not to throttle Tom right then and there.

 

“You were using _legilimency_ on me.” His voice was low and furious. He seemed to get progressively angrier as he spoke. “This isn’t even the first time, is it? All those dreams about my friends, about Ginny – that was you! You’ve been poking around in my head for weeks!”

 

He’d been wrong to trust him, to think a boy who slaughtered animals in petty revenge and tortured his peers could ever understand love and compassion and _boundaries_. He’d been trying to see good where there was none.

 

Xx

 

Tom was reeling, his head still spinning as if he were still fighting his way out of a daze. He blinked blearily into the darkness. The smell of fire, the shrieking screams of a battle progressing, the sight of bodies were still fresh in his mind as he clung to the fading sensation, that golden warmth that he had just been torn from.  If only he could grasp at it, keep it to ward away all of the fear all of the anger. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his father was screaming, tearing him away from that solace. Or perhaps that was just a siren. It all seemed to blur together as he tried to piece things apart and back to reality.

 

Tom’s body snapped forward as he felt himself being yanked out from bed. He stumbled, nearly choking as the collar of his pajamas tightened around his throat. Harry had a vice-like grip on the fabric as he forced Tom to his level, his brilliant green eyes fiery with pure, unfiltered rage. There was something horrifyingly animalistic about him. For a chilling moment, Tom believed that Harry might actually bite him, or reach out to scratch at him and tear him apart. Instead, the words Harry chose were weapons enough.

 

Harry knew. He might have left himself unprotected far too often, but he wasn’t an idiot.  He could certainly put two and two together and make what seemed like a damning situation even worse. A chill ran down Tom’s spine and his stomach clenched violently. Tom’s thoughts were reduced to instincts, to fear. He had to escape, immediately.

 

“Let me go!” Tom shoved violently at Harry with all of his might. He knew that his wand was within arm’s reach, and although he took it up defensively, he knew that an attack would be futile. He concentrated his mental energies at keeping Harry’s onslaught of rage and hate at bay.

 

_Cause him pain. Make him retreat. Defend yourself. Survive! He means to do it this time! He means to make you suffer before he kills you! It’s you or him!_

 

Tom tried to summon up the will, the deeply seeded internal power to aim at Harry, to cause him as much pain as he possibly could but his mind faltered. The dream’s warmth lingered, despite Tom’s best efforts to set them aside. Harry’s imploring eyes swam in the darkness of the night they had fled from London, the memory surprisingly vivid in his mind’s eye as Tom tried to concentrate on the task at hand. Harry’s playful, easy laugh over a glass of mead threw of his mental state completely. That calm, comforting expression Harry had given him when he had assured him that _everything would be alright._

 

Tom couldn’t cause Harry pain. He didn’t know why or how, but that certainly meant that he couldn’t defend himself. Not like this.

 

“Harry, wait!” Tom cried, looking to Harry pleadingly. “I can explain! Calm down!”

 

Xx

 

Harry had no reason to believe Tom wasn’t lying to him, that he wasn’t deceiving Harry. He’d always had a knack for it. The moment he’d learned how to do it he’d been utilizing it to control people. There was a flash of red in Tom’s eyes and perhaps it was just a reflection of the fire, or a product of a distressed mind, but it was enough to convince Harry the imploring look on Tom’s face was fabricated.

 

Shadows of Hermione and Ron and Ginny lingered in his sight. He’d been trying so hard, for so long to force those memories into the recesses of his mind, and Tom had drudged them to the surface. They felt more raw and painful than ever before. He always, inevitably, blamed himself for these things, for being too naïve or weak or stupid to do the right thing, so he gathered all that guilt and hate and threw it onto the only remaining receptacle.

 

Instead of assaulting Tom, as Harry seemed to want to do, he went straight for Tom’s wand and yanked it out of his hand with such force that Tom fell back into the bed as a consequence. “I should have never given you this!” he snapped, and then turned, striding across the room and over to the roaring fire. He didn’t even hesitate before throwing it in.

 

And as he watched the flames leap up around it, singeing the fine wood, Harry’s anger evaporated like ethanol in a killing jar. He suddenly remembered that Tom was only sixteen. An intelligent, capable sixteen year old, but a sixteen year old all the same, and he - an adult who should know better, especially after being abused in similar ways - had just thrown his most treasured worldly possession into the fire. He was supposed to be Tom’s mentor, but the only thing he was teaching Tom was that it was _okay_ to hurt people if they hurt you first; he’d let his anger get the best of him.

 

The flames danced around his hands as he reached in to retrieve the wand. It burned his skin, turned it pink, but Harry didn’t care; he pulled the wand out before it could be irreparably damaged and examined it, and was relieved to find it wasn’t damaged beyond repair. A fresh coat of paint and it would be as good as new.

 

Harry’s breaths came out hard and fast as he stood before the fire, staring into the flames. He clutched the wand in discoloured hands and said nothing at all.

 

Xx

 

Harry wasn’t buying it. He certainly wasn’t stopping. The anger in his eyes had not faded. Before Tom could try to elaborate and weave a well-worded lie (or perhaps even the truth, for once), Harry was upon him. He almost seemed to be shaking with barely kept rage before he lunged forward. Tom drew up his arms to protect himself, knowing that magic simply would not serve him against his attacker.

 

He had expected a heavy physical blow, a burst of pain, so when he found himself knocked back on to the soft cushion of the mattress once again, he snapped his head up once again in confusion. Harry was retreating speedily to the fireplace with a dogged determination that left no room for hesitation.

 

He threw in Tom’s wand.

 

A horrified scream erupted from Tom. For a chilling second, Tom was certain that his father had somehow entered, that he had hallucinated the man yet again, but as he found himself winded and horse, he realized that this was not the case. Throwing himself from the bed, he sprinted forward just in time to catch Harry shoving his hands into the flames and withdrawing the wand.  He held it delicately with his injured hands pink, raw and blistered.

 

But Tom was blind with rage, with fear he would never admit to. The fireplace burst and roared with his unchecked magical energy as he grabbed the wand from Harry and shoved the other man back violently, holding the singed, battered wood like a dagger, his eyes blazing and face contorted in a snarl of rage.

 

“How dare you!  How dare you touch my wand, you filthy half-blood! You disgust me, you damned idiot! Do you know who I am?  Do you know whose blood runs through my veins?” Tom was screaming at the top of his lungs. It hardly mattered the words he was using anymore, just as long as they could be used to inflict pain. He failed to notice as a small crack ran up the length of the wand he was currently brandishing in Harry’s direction.

 

He was desperate for a weapon, desperate to escape the confusion behind the kindness he had been shown, to find a reason all of it.   _This was proof enough that Harry wanted him powerless and dead, just as he had suspected all along._ This sick ploy of encouraging him, of leading him, of befriending him, it had all led to this terrifying moment in which Tom had nearly lost everything he had ever valued, his hope for the future, his chance at immortality. Another crack was slowly splitting at the brittle wood now, but Tom was too far gone to see.

 

“You couldn’t save your friends!  Your lover!  You’re a failure! You wanted to break me! You’ve wanted me dead from the moment you saw me!” _How dare you make me think you wanted to protect me._

 

“You think I deserve it!  Admit it, Harry!” _How could you smile at me that way? Look at me that way?_

 

Tom was grasping at straws, tossing verbal daggers, cutting at whatever he could reach. Magic was leaking dangerously from him now. The flames of the roaring fire were licking the edges of the flooring, singing them. The bed which he had just vacated was sliding eerily about the floor, unbidden. The wall hangings pulled taunt as though being sucked into a vacuum. Tom was pointing his wand directly at Harry, wanting, willing the magic to obey him, to stop the anger, to give him release. Tom inhaled sharply to say a spell.

 

The wand burst into a shower of green and silver sparks before catching fire in his hand.

 

With a gasp, Tom dropped it, watching in horrified silence as it fell soundly, neatly to the floor and burned itself from the inside out. His mouth slightly ajar in shock, his breathing shallow, his face ashen beyond his usual shade of pale.

 

Xx

 

Harry wasn’t the sort of person who ran from things, but as Tom was currently yelling at him and brandishing his scorched wand, he tried to convince himself he could make an exception, just this once. They clearly needed time apart. Harry, especially, needed to get away, least he exacerbate things by letting Tom provoke him. He discreetly glanced at the door - their sole exit - and all the while Tom was bellowing the sort of insults Walburga Black would have been proud of.

 

At a loss for what to do, he took a step back, putting a wide breadth between himself and Tom. He hadn’t yet reached for his own wand because he was hoping Tom would prove his assumptions about his character wrong –

 

But the implosion of Tom’s wand didn’t give Harry the opportunity to see whether or not Tom would have enacted some sort of misguided revenge. The shock rendered him still. He stared at the black marks the wand had left on the floorboards and once his surprise had subsided enough for him to speak, the only sound he emitted was a soft, anguished groan, because how could he have screwed up _this badly_ not three months into their time together? How was he going to be able to convince Tom he had his best interests in mind when he’d just _destroyed his wand_?

 

His thigh abruptly started to sting, and Harry realized his own wand was emitting sparks. He didn’t withdraw it out of respect for what Tom had just lost, but he slid a hand into his pocket, gently curling his sore pink fingers around it to stifle any additional outbursts.  

 

It seemed to be responding to the death of its brother.

 

“Tom, I’m sorry,” he began. By the tone of his voice, no one would have guessed he was talking to someone who had just berated him for five minutes straight. “I didn’t – I thought it could be fixed. I thought I got it out fast enough. I know that’s no excuse, but-” Falling heavily onto the settee, Harry cupped his face in his hands and screwed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to go somewhere quiet and dark and pretend he and all his problems didn’t exist for a few hours, but he had an obligation to Tom. He needed to fix this, _somehow_.

 

A replacement could be bought easily enough, but Harry knew from experience that replacement wands came with their own challenges. Tom had cultivated his magic through use of that wand and now he would have to adjust to an entirely different one less than six months before coming of age. It would feel lackluster in comparison. But what else could he do? There was no means of duplicating or bringing back his old wand, and Harry certainly couldn’t send him back to school without one.

 

Xx

 

Tom couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t believe it.  It had happened right before his very eyes and yet he couldn’t seem to bring himself to _believe it._ He stared down at the long, thin, neat patch of scorched ground at his feet.  All of the fiery anger turned to icy cold as his stomach seemed to turn to lead within his body.  The quick, panicked beat of his heart pulsed behind his ears and yet he couldn’t even bring himself to blink he was so blindsided.

 

It had appeared as though his wand had destroyed itself. Tom knew better.  He had felt the rage, known the spell that was on his lips, knew that he needed that wand to channel it forth.  His hands still tingled with the sensation of power which could not find a release, but it was quickly receding as his pulse began to slow once again, the adrenaline wearing off as the seconds ticked on. He breathed slowly, letting his thoughts return and with them, the slow and sickening realization that it had been his own power that had destroyed the wand.

 

It was simple. The wand served Harry. Tom filled the wand with energy to attack Harry with. Rather than attack Harry, the wand had used Tom’s power to destroy itself. So beautifully simple. So remarkably clever. It was as though the wand were alive from the beginning.

 

_Or had been alive_ , he reflected. The loss of the wand was staggering to him, but in retrospect, it was more so just an additional kick to Tom’s metaphorical stomach while he was down.  Tom had always had magic.  He had been training his abilities with or without a wand from the day he discovered it within the orphanage. The wand was a beautifully effective weapon, but that was all that it was in the end: a weapon. As long as he had the magic, he could survive. He could be special.

 

Harry was speaking now. He hadn’t noticed the other man retreat to the settee, but he now sat there, his face buried in his battered, burned hands, shaking his head slowly, stumbling over his words and apologizing. The anger that should have filled Tom at his words seemed to have fizzled out and died on the floor along with his wand.  He stared blankly at the other man.

 

_Hand wounds. They weakened a fighter greatly, rendered him unable to defend himself properly. They should be healed immediately._ Tom stepped slowly over to Harry, abandoning the neat little burn on the ground without a second glance. _His wand was dead. It was never coming back._

 

“It was my fault.” Tom replied softly, his usually smooth voice ragged from screaming.  He crouched next to Harry, looking intently at his hands. “The wand would have been fine if I not tried to force it to attack you. You were its master. It would have rather served you than me, even in death.” With a quick, fluid motion, Tom took Harry’s hand by the wrist and pulled it firmly towards him. Holding it out, palm up, he placed his own hand on top of it, palm down before beginning to concentrate. His jawline tensed as he pressed down lightly, feeling the temperature between their two hands become icy cold.

 

_Take the pain away._

 

It only lasted a few heartbeats of a moment between them, the frigid sensation running along Harry’s hand like ice water before Tom finally withdrew. The burns were healed to a certain extent. Scabbing was across Harry’s palms and fingertips, and new, pink skin spread over a few of the more angry burn wounds, but the wounds were not completely healed. Tom sighed, looking troubled. “It’s the best I can do without a wand.” He admitted bitterly.

 

“Your other hand.” He gestured expectantly, his voice horse and soft yet still demanding, his eyes focused on Harry, his face pale and drawn and yet he persisted doggedly.

 

Xx

 

As much as Harry would have liked not to be responsible, that couldn’t be true. Wands didn’t just implode on their wielder. They lunged at their chosen master, they refused to work beyond a few sparks, they caused spells to rebound; they didn’t burn themselves from the inside out. The means of which the wand had destroyed itself was too much of a coincidence to have nothing to do with Harry throwing it in the fire.

 

He drew his hands back, into the folds of his robes, having no desire to be touched. He could heal them himself. They weren’t hurting so badly that they needed immediate attention.

 

“That’s not true, Tom. Your wand didn’t choose me over you. You’ve owned it since you were eleven, and I gave it back. It shouldn’t have destroyed itself.” He hunched over a little further, staring intently at his knees. His words felt like hooks in his mouth. “And it _wouldn’t_ have destroyed itself if I hadn’t- but we can get you a new wand!” He’d abruptly stood, and after glancing at the clock attached to the far left wall, Harry slowly lowered himself back to the cushions. “Ollivanders isn’t open yet. But we’ll get you a new wand in the morning, before I’m due for work. I don’t start until nine today.”

 

As he worked in the kitchen, cooking and cleaning, he didn’t get paid a great deal. Enough to live comfortably in the Three Broomsticks (he’d received a diminished price for a long-term stay), but he was still relying on the money he’d taken from his vault for a lot of things. Fortunately he had hundreds and hundreds of gallons, enough to last them through this year and perhaps the next if they were frugal.

 

He ran a hand through his hair, and noticing that the fire had burned a hold in his glove, unveiling the words ‘tell lies’, he tucked it back into his robe, using his other hand to further dishevel his hair instead.

 

When a considerable silence settled between them, he intentionally broke it. “I’m going to go downstairs for a little while, alright? We can talk about… stuff, later. Maybe tomorrow if I get home too late.” A few pints of mead would calm his nerves. Maybe even a firewhiskey, even if he had no need for its courage inducing effects. He could curl up in the corner of the bar to get a few more hours of sleep, then return to retrieve Tom for their early morning trip into Diagon Alley.

 

“Try to get some sleep.” He stood from the couch again, brushing past Tom.

 

Xx

 

“No. _You’re wrong_ . It was me.” Tom stated flatly, leaving little room to be contested. And truly, in his mind, all of Harry’s sound reasoning and examples were second to his own assumptions. His power had destroyed the wand. It was so elegantly simple and Harry still insisted that it had been his actions, throwing it in the fire. It was a foolish assertion, but then again, for all of his skill and pragmatism in survival, Harry really could be quite _stupid_ at times. It had been his undeniable power that had destroyed the wand which was no longer his.

 

Harry was so genuine though.

 

Everything about him, from the anger and frustration in his eyes, to the apology on his lips seemed as sincere as ever. His guilt was confusing as much as it was reassuring. Up until this point, Tom had not met many people that would have felt guilty for harming him. He might have forced them to feel upset, but of their own volition, Tom doubted that they would have given it a second thought. Tom bit his lip to keep himself from expanding on how foolish Harry’s ideas were. The other man tended to get irate when he pointed out such obvious things, despite them being entirely and unarguably true.

 

When Harry withdrew his injured hands into his robes, Tom frowned up at him, almost petulantly. Tom wanted to heal him. Why was Harry being so stubborn? Why did he insist on blaming himself?  When Harry persisted, Tom sighed and slid himself on to the settee next to him, sitting stiffly, his thoughts faraway and removed from the silence that had settled heavily between them. He tried not to admit to the smell of burnt wood within the room.

 

As Harry brushed past him, stepping quickly to the door, Tom had the sudden inescapable urge to grab him by the wrist and pull him back once again, but he forced himself to stay silent, to watch carefully and give away none of his thoughts. He asked Tom to get some rest in a voice that clearly could have afforded to take his own advice. He stared as the other man exited.  The fire popped and crackled calmly behind its grate, but that served to be the only sound. He sat alone, wondering (of all things) why he had the sudden urge to drag Harry back just for the sake of having him there.

 

_He doesn’t want to be near you.  He wants you dead because you’re odd, freakish, demonic._

 

The fire hissed angrily as it licked at the grate. Tom tried to force the thoughts back into silence, but as with any denied thought, it resurfaced with a vengeance, bubbling up unbidden like stomach acid.

 

_Your wand doesn’t want you. Harry could hardly stand you. He would rather have the pain of his burns than come in contact with you._

 

He snapped his eyes shut, breathed deeply, tried not to feel sick, but the smell of burnt wood seemed to become all the stronger with nothing to distract him from it. Opening his eyes once again, he glanced over at the small, scorched spot on the floor.


	5. Wand Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all of your wonderful support and beautiful comments! I'm so surprised that people seem to be following along with this little story. Please continue to leave comments and kudos. They really do brighten my day so much and I'm so grateful for them. :)
> 
> Just as a reminder, this is a compilation of a roleplay between myself (https://riddlemostpowerful.tumblr.com/) and HeroComplexing (http://herocomplexing.tumblr.com/). I played Tom, while my companion played Harry. Their writing is incredible, and I would highly recommend that you follow them.
> 
> My sweet, adorable buddy Grace Lee (https://darklorddiscourse.tumblr.com/) collected most of the posts together for me, so I owe her a huge thanks. She's an incredible writer as well.

The next morning, bright and early, Harry fixed himself up in a public bathroom and headed upstairs, feeling as if he hadn’t slept at all. The taste of mead lingered on his tongue even after gulping down mouthfuls of tap water, and it was no longer sweet and pleasant, but bitter and tart. Wiping his lips on the back of his sleeve did nothing to quell the taste. With a disgruntled sigh, Harry ascended the staircase and entered his and Tom’s shared accommodations. His footsteps briefly stuttered as he approached the settee, belatedly realizing he should walk slower, quieter, least he awaken his ward. He sat down and pressed the sleeve of his robe against his face. It smelt like alcohol and dust (a combination that made Harry recoil). Wrinkling his nose, he divested his robe while Tom was – presumably – still asleep, and then waved his wand to summon a fresh set of clothes.

 

After casting the bed a cursory glance, he tiptoed his way into the bathroom with his clothes in arm and changed into them, making hasty work of the task. It was six am. If they left before half past that would give them two hours to buy Tom’s wand and thirty minutes for him to rush back in time for work. His tie was lopsided when he finally emerged from the bathroom, but he made no effort to straighten it, nor did he make any attempt to brush his hair into submission. It was, as it had always been, a messy mop of dark tresses.

 

At last he approached the side of Tom’s bed and – he _had_ intended to put Tom’s clothes on his chest, but he ended up getting his robe caught on a piece of furniture and dropping them all over Tom’s face.

 

“Sorry!” he exclaimed, hastily attempting to retrieve them. He almost punched Tom in the process, and taking that as an indication he should give up, he stood back and held Tom’s shirt and socks loosely in his arms.

 

Xx

 

Having a bit of time to think really did help.  After a few hours, the angry crackling of the fire had died down to a low murmur.  The room had gone back to normal, no longer filled with his irate magic gushing out of him at inopportune moments and at unsuspecting targets.

 

Tom had sat on the settee, his icy fingers interlocked, as he allowed his mind to shape around his own problem. He squelched the need to call Harry back within minutes. He didn’t need anyone there, and certainly not Harry to see him in this state.  

 

But the action had already been done. His wand was gone in a poof of flames and dust.  The ashes on the floor were a testament to that fact. And yet, what was left? After long hours of thought, Tom had come to one single conclusion: _he felt nothing_.  No remorse, no sentimentality, no real anger. The wand had abandoned him into its very grave and thus, he would be needing a new one, something which would dutifully wield his power and not balk at the subject of loyalty.

 

Tom had decided to crawl into bed soon after his realization. He felt cold despite the blankets and the fire. He felt empty despite the fact that he had eaten. He felt exhausted, but sleep evaded him.

 

Morning couldn’t have come soon enough. Hearing Harry re-enter the room made Tom perk slightly, yet within the darkness of the early hours, Harry did not see. The man had settled himself in the sitting room, sniffing self-consciously at his clothing before stumbling in the darkness to the bathroom to change.

 

Drunk.  Strange of him, really. Harry didn’t drink too often, but he certainly couldn’t blame him. The night’s events had been trying to say the least. Tom rolled over, thinking back on their first night here, drinking together, talking of the past, the present, of ‘Robin and Bat…Boy’ or whatever.  He smiled to himself, recalling the fashion choices they had discussed. Underwear over trousers, really what a ridiculous notion-

 

Cloth fell over his eyes and face and Tom snapped to attention, yanking the fabric off of himself and shoving himself away…and directly into the headboard. The loud thump was followed by a few very loud and creatively chosen curses, Tom clutched at the back of his head and willed himself not to see stars as pain shot through him and blurred his vision momentarily. He groaned and sighed, looking blearily up at Harry. If the man didn’t stop his apologetic flailing, he was going to end up giving Tom a black eye along with his battered skull.

 

He blinked slowly, laughing at the sheer ridiculous of the both of them. “Damn, that smarts. Well, you look a mess.” Tom sighed, giving Harry a lopsided grin, his voice still slightly tight with the pain that was easing away from his head.  He reached over and straightened the tie, absolutely unable to continue any sort of a conversation without being reassured of its 'neatness’.

 

“That’s better. I’ll go dress.” Tom conceded before taking his clothing in hand and easing himself out of bed.  He stumbled slightly before entering the bathroom and emerged ten minutes later looking quite a bit more put together than he felt.  His hair was smoothed into place, his robes fell beautifully across his form.

 

His head was still pounding angrily. Damn it all.

 

Xx

 

The tension of earlier seemed to have dissolved overnight. Neither of them were as unhappy as they ought to be; Tom was smiling and reaching over to adjust Harry’s tie, while Harry was looking sheepish and vaguely amused. It was as though nothing amiss had gone on in the night. He sat down on the edge of the bed while Tom dressed and withdrew his remaining glove. This one still had fingers. He meticulously removed each one of them while he waited for his ward to emerge, chopping them off with a pair of scissors he’d retrieved from the very bottom of his robe pocket. When Tom finally emerged from the bathroom, the glove was on and the scissors had been put away.

“Ready to go?” he asked, standing and pulling the flaps of his robe tight around himself; it was going to be a chilly morning.

 

Now that they were preparing to head out for Tom’s new wand, he was wondering what sort Tom would get, if it would be anything like his former wand. Truth be told, Harry hoped not; he’d rather Tom get a wand that looked less like it’d been carved out of a human bone. Assuming Tom hadn’t made that embellishment himself, that was.

 

He continued speaking after a brief pause. “We can get some of your school things while we’re out. Cauldrons and such,” he said. “I’ve already got your robes and books ordered; I’m just waiting for them to be delivered. They should be here sometime next week.”

 

There was only a few weeks left before the school year began, then Harry wouldn’t see Tom again until the Christmas holidays. Despite recent events, it was troubling to think about; he didn’t relish the idea of being all on his own for months at a time. (Well, maybe on _all_ on his own, but he’d still miss Tom! He was getting used to having the boy around).

 

Xx

 

Harry was fussing with his right hand again. The secret of what was under that glove was all too tempting for Tom. He wanted to ask questions, to manipulate him into speaking about it, to pry the information out of him. Hell, searching through his dreams had even been a consideration before last night, but Tom had relented on that front (the draw of the warm dream had been too powerful to him to refuse). But the entire reason as to why it was hidden from him constantly was frustrating and nagging at Tom. Perhaps it was a wound of war, or an enhancement to his dueling abilities. He wanted to insist that Harry finally tell him, but he knew he would get nowhere with the other man. He was so remarkably stubborn, but then again, so was Tom.

 

“We must make a stop at Gringotts.” Tom insisted, cutting into Harry’s list of necessities and looking at him evenly, refusing to expand much more on the subject. He didn’t want to speak of how very poor he was, of how he literally owned next to nothing. A charity case is what the others would call him once they found out. _A filthy, half-blood, charity case._  Tom could almost feel his blood boil at the prospect of being looked down upon and even more at being pitied. But, there was absolutely no way he was going to allow Harry to pay for any more of his education if he could help.

Hogwarts provided for those who did not have the ability to earn money yet, for children without those who could provide for them. Tom could use that to his advantage and pay Harry back for all of these considerations he had taken in getting Tom ready for school and caretaking for him since his ‘kidnapping’. Tom’s brow knit with confusion once again. Why was Harry so insistent on ensuring his well being? It was so strange, considering their past.

 

“Absolutely.” He nodded in agreement. It was best to get going. He gave his thick robes a smart tug to keep the morning chill from reaching him. “Shall we go by Floo, or by Apparation?”

 

Xx

 

It hadn’t even occurred to Harry that Tom would have a Gringotts account, but it didn’t surprise him; with the exception of an estranged father, who wasn’t part of the wizarding world anyway, Tom didn’t have parents to pay his way through life like his peers did. Harry was the closest thing he’d ever had to a provider. And Harry had every intention of continuing to provide for him, even if he protested. Whatever money Tom did have he would need for his future.

 

“Floo,” he said, sorting through the contents of his pocket in search of the pouch of powder. He’d paid to have the pockets enchanted recently so more could be fit inside. As they were often on the move, it was a necessary expenditure.

 

“I don’t see why we’d need to go to Gringotts, though. If you need or want something, I’d be happy to get it for you.” Finally locating the little pouch, he untied the thread holding it shut and took a pinch, throwing it into their fireplace. The flames immediately roared a bright emerald green, bathing the room in its arcane glow.

 

He glanced back at Tom, his face lined with badly masked concern, and then gestured for Tom to proceed into the fire. After what had happened in the early hours of the morning, he was worried Tom had decided Harry wasn’t a suitable provider, that he needed to distance himself from Harry, and being financially independent was one way to do that. He had expected it to happen sooner or later, of course; Tom was nearly at the age where he would be able to find employment, but it probably wasn’t a coincidence that the first time Tom expressed a desire to visit Gringrotts came after a heated fight.

 

Xx

 

Was this Harry’s rendition of keeping a stiff upper lip?  The man looked like Tom had just kicked his puppy and ran away laughing. Tom quirked a brow at him, curiosity overtaking his need to get to Diagon Alley and find his new wand as soon as possible. There was something within the conversation’s last three minutes or so that had thrown his companion off. It was in moments like these in which Tom sincerely wished that he had a bit more understanding of humanity within him. As it was right now, it just seemed to him like Harry was being moody and irate for no reason at all.

 

Then it dawned on him: the mention of getting money from Gringotts, the offer that he would not ever have to pay for something while Harry was ready to do so in his stead. Harry fully intended on providing without repayment.

 

No, that couldn’t be right…

 

He was assuming incorrectly. No one provided without repayment. There was nothing in this world that came without a price. Harry had obviously meant that he didn’t need to repaid _yet_ .  Harry obviously expected something in return _later_ , but not immediately. Perhaps it was part of his trial period, following the vows. Maybe he was still even thinking of doing away with Tom entirely.  Tom swallowed hard, glancing down at the other man and finding that same genuine expression he had come to expect from his ‘captor’, with a side of slight frustration which drew his mouth into a thin line as though he were concentrating far too hard in the morning.

 

Tom stayed carefully silent, stepping into the fire and carefully articulating his destination before finding himself at the Diagon Alley Floo station.  He stepped out into the crisp air and drew his robes about himself before turning to wait for Harry’s arrival. “We’ll go to Ollivander’s first.” He stated once Harry did finally emerge from the flames, his voice strong with purpose as though dictating. “Then, the bank.” He insisted.

 

Xx

 

Within a heartbeat, Harry was standing in Diagon Alley’s cobbled street. He brushed some soot off of his clothes as he emerged from the flames, peering up and down each end of the street before he proceeded with a reply; he wanted to make sure Lord Black wasn’t around to see them together. He’d already lied to him and said he and Tom were no longer on speaking terms.

 

“Ollivander’s, then.” Though unnecessary, he set a hand on Tom’s forearm to guide him along. “Oh, and if you see Lord Black, start being standoffish towards me. I told him you’d fired me, and if sees us together, well… I think I’ve pissed him off enough without him knowing I’ve lied to him, honestly.”

 

He was already exhibiting enough interest in Harry that his friends had started to regard Harry with similar interest, thinking him a friend of Lord Black. He’d narrowly avoided having to talk to a _Malfoy_ the other day.

 

“Actually, I have an idea.” Reaching into his enlarged pockets, Harry withdrew his invisibility cloak and tossed it over his head, hunching over so it would cover his feet. Few people seemed to notice his disappearance. Those who did merely blinked and continued about their day. Harry was so practiced at dodging people while wearing the cloak that he had no trouble whatsoever navigating the congested street.

 

It wasn’t that he was afraid of Lord Black and his friends – he just didn’t want to bring their wrath down upon Tom, who would have a hard enough time at school without his friends hearing word that he was spending time with some muggle loving fool.

 

He was a little surprised his cloak still worked, honestly. Maybe death would feel compelled to ask after its origins at some point, given that there was likely another cloak in existence. The thought made him snort.

 

“I’m still here,” he said, just in case Tom hadn’t seen him disappear. “I’m wearing an invisibility cloak.” He always brought it along, just in case. It was a habit to do so at this point.

 

Xx

 

Harry’s hand on his arm was warm and firm. Strange. Perhaps the other man was getting a fever. They should look into getting the proper herbs. Most likely, he was overworking himself _yet again_. Tom turned to tell him as such and found himself quite alone.

 

One moment, Harry was standing by his side, telling him of how he needed to act cold and standoffish if he were to the ever-looming threat of Lord Black. The next moment, he was gone, without a trace.

 

Tom blinked at the spot where Harry had once stood, then turned his attention sharply left, and then right as though expecting him to pop out of nowhere, laughing that it had all been some kind of misguided joke. Upon hearing his voice, Tom visibly relaxed, the tightness of his jaw easing as he sighed in relief.

 

As if catching himself letting emotion ebb through his usual controlled exterior, Tom jumped back to attention. “ **Harry** ,” He huffed angrily, keeping his voice between the two of them. “Don’t surprise me like that! I didn’t know you had an invisibility cloak.” He continued, suddenly quite aware of all of the times Harry could have been present while he was out stealing books from nearby campers or trying to find where his wand might have been hidden before last night’s incident.

 

He gulped hard, keeping the worry trained from his face. Harry was quite a bit trickier than he had first thought.

 

Either way, they both had a mission to attend to before the morning was done. He hurried along the cobblestone streets, enjoying the crisp morning air, the rather curious array of individuals now preparing to open their shops for the day. The welcoming scent of baking bread rose from a few cafes and taverns nearby. The sun peeked hesitantly over the horizon as though it were checking that it was safe to rise on the sleeping world. All in all, it looked like a promisingly beautiful morning.

 

Tom couldn’t help but keep his mind focused on Ollivander’s regardless of their pristine surroundings.

 

_“What if I can’t find one?”_

 

The question slipped out before Tom could snap his mouth shut and his mind in line. He certainly had not meant for it to sound so very…nervous. Tom hated it when emotions slipped through his carefully constructed exterior. Anxiety gripped at him as he forced himself back into his usual cool facade. He stepped hurriedly onward, rushing to the weathered, dusty exterior of Ollivander’s, finding himself instinctively slowing upon finally reaching the aged wooden door. Something within him quite suddenly wished he could feel Harry’s hand was on his arm again.

 

“Will you be coming in hidden under that cloak?” He asked in undertones. “Or will you reveal yourself now? There aren’t many here who would care enough to take note of you.”

 

Xx

 

It was indeed a beautiful day; the sky was a vast, cloudless blue and what little sunlight was visible was gradually dispelling the morning chill. They were well into August and being treated to some of the warmest days of the year. While one would never find luxurious heat in the cool, cobbled streets of inner London, there was now no snow, nor rain, nor any wind, and one could get away with wearing a jacket if they wanted to travel light.

But Harry wasn’t enjoying the weather. He was too busy peering down each end of Diagon Alley to appreciate the signs of summer, making sure Lord Black wasn’t pottering around in search of him like he had done the last time Harry had ventured out for some early morning shopping.

 

The only thing that seemed able to draw him out of his preoccupation was Tom’s voice, which brought his head snapping back around to his companion. The question had startled him. It was one of the concerns he’d had following their argument, but it wasn’t one he’d thought Tom would have had. Even at sixteen, he’d seemed so very sure of himself, especially in regards to all things magic; granted, there were bound to be differences between the young horcrux Tom Riddle and the real Tom Riddle.

 

“That seems unlikely,” he said quickly, hoping to reassure Tom. “If you’re worried because your wand chose me, don’t be; just about every wand ever can be made to change allegiance. Even my wand. It doesn’t mean you aren’t- oh.”

 

Tom had absconded before he could hear Harry’s attempt at comfort, hurrying to the entrance of Ollivanders. He was just a little bit affronted to have been left talking at nothing.

 

He arrived on the stone steps a few minutes after Tom, a hand fisted around a section of his invisibility cloak.

 

“Just a minute…” Giving the street one more cursory glance, Harry removed the cloak and stowed it away in a pocket. He contemplated telling Tom about Lord Black’s peculiar behavior for all of a second before dismissing the thought; Tom had enough on his plate without having to deal with Harry’s problems.

 

“Did you hear anything I said back there?” he asked as he pushed his way inside, keeping the door open with a foot so Tom could follow. “About not finding a wand, I mean.”

 

Xx

 

“Yes, of course.” Tom smiled winningly at Harry, as he always did when he was telling a blatant lie. It usually served to distract the person in question. Currently, it was just an instinct to distract himself from the worries gnawing at his stomach. He had a sudden vivid picture of him being expected to use someone else’s wand for the rest of his life, like being fated to wear a pair of ill-fitting shoes on the opposite feet for eternity. Or even worse, having his own destructive variety of impulsive, wandless magic leaking out of him at inopportune moments, which was embarrassing and dangerous all at once.

 

Despite himself though, he was relieved to be able to actually see Harry at his side, and not speak randomly to whatever area he had guessed his companion was. The prospect of doing that again was another point of annoyance that Tom hid behind an easy smile.

 

The heavy atmosphere of the inside of the shop quickly sobered his mood. It was as though he had walked into a small, crowded warehouse, stocked to the brim with neat, thin boxes, stacked to the ceiling. The boxes themselves were plain, wooden, and in a variety of lengths, but all in all, quite uniform.  The air was slightly musty, as though this were a secret crawlspace or library. The whole room hummed with magic. Tom could feel it, smell it, almost taste it. It hung thickly in the air silencing his worried mind, calming his troublesome thoughts.

 

Tom sighed contentedly. It was absolutely euphoric. This place had marked the start of his journey into the world of magic, his journey to power. He glanced at Harry, a small relaxed smile on his face as he opened his mouth to speak and was immediately interrupted.

 

“Back again, Mr. Riddle?” Called a crisp voice from the back of the store. Tom snapped to attention, peering between the rows of boxes, training himself to looking neither impressed nor disgusted. There was a distinct air of haughtiness about Tom that had not been there a heartbeat ago.

 

“Yes, Mr. Ollivander. I have need for a new wand.” Tom answered succinctly as a tall, thin man emerged into view. He was somewhat casually dressed. His black hair fell in a disarray, sticking up at odd angles, as though his hands had run through it far too many times while working. His wide eyes set their unblinking gaze on Tom, traveled to Harry and then back again.

 

“That’s not surprising.” The wandmaker commented.

 

“How so?” Tom asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

 

“Well, you’re completely different from the first time you walked in.” Ollivander continued pensively, glancing at Harry again and then back.

 

“I have grown quite a bit.” Tom admitted, smiling politely as though he were speaking to someone a bit _off_. “Typically, that shouldn’t warrant a change in wands, but unfortunately, I need to get myself a new one.”

 

“That is not what I meant, Mr. Riddle…” Ollivander murmured, more to himself than to Tom. His eyebrows drew into a concerned line before he shook his head. “And, who is your companion?”

 

“This is Harry.” Tom gestured smoothly to the other man. “Now, if we can please get to the matter at hand, Mr. Ollivander. I fear I do not have much time to stay with you.”

 

Ollivander immediately gestured for Tom to stop, holding up his thin hand before turning those full, luminous eyes to Harry, fixing him with their piercing stare. “Harry, hm? How very curious…”

 

Xx

 

This was the first time Harry had ventured into Ollivanders since arriving in the year 1943, and not a great deal had changed from when he’d last seen it; the shelves were in the same place as they had been on Harry’s first excursion into the magical world, still covered in neat piles of wands that reached right up to the ceiling. Even the spindly chair Harry had spotted upon first entering the shop was present, looking moderately less worn. Harry smiled as he reminisced; he could still remember how it had felt to hold his first wand, the warmth that had spread through his fingers and the slight buzz as he had given it a wave. The flecks of magic that had leapt out of the end had danced beautifully in the dark of the room.

 

The only thing that gave him a start was the sight of Ollivander; it was strange to see him without his wild white hair and misty eyes. His irises were clear and silver, but no less penetrating than they would be in his elder years. Harry shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of that gaze and his hand twitched towards his pocket, the one containing his cloak. He was starting to regret having put it away.

 

“Not to be rude, but we really don’t have much time, Mr. Ollivander,” he said, settling down into the spindly waiting chair.

 

Ollivander continued to examine him. “Hmm… you seem like one of mine, Harry, but… that couldn’t be right.” With as shake of his head, he resumed looking at Tom. “Well then, arm out Mr. Riddle. You’ve grown quite a bit since we last saw each other.”

 

The measuring tape floated out on its own accord. Just as he had with Harry, Ollivander first measured Tom from shoulder to finger, and then moved on to wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, and knee to armpit. He finished off by measuring the circumference of Tom’s head. Harry couldn’t help but be slightly amused by the sight of Tom having his neat black hair disheveled by overzealous measuring tape. He smiled into his hand, stifling a chuckle.

 

“Hmm, yes. Something more mellow this time, I think, but about the same size.” He plucked a box out of the pile, careful not to dislodge the others, and handed Tom a thin black wand with an intricately designed handle. Sight alone wasn’t enough for Harry to recognize what it was constructed of. He squinted at it, but Ollivander soon filled them in.

 

“This one is vine and unicorn hair. Ten inches. Nice and springy. Give it a wave, Mr. Riddle.”

 

Xx

 

It was a testament to Tom’s skill at glaring (at Harry) that he was able to do so even with a tape measurer twisting around his head. Ollivander was making himself busy among the rows and rows of boxes as the little gadget was finishing up with getting the size of his earlobes and then the width of the space between his fingertips.

 

He had to swat the damn device away in order to even consider taking the wand which was offered to him by the shopkeeper. Thankfully, it relented. “Vine?” Tom repeated, his voice soft and contemplative he gazed down at it. Sounded rather rare and the handle was, indeed, splendidly carved. How very fitting of him, he admitted inwardly. He gave it a purposeful and rather proud flourish.

 

Ollivander’s flowerpot exploded with remarkably loud bang.

 

Frankly, Tom hadn’t even seen the rather earthen pot upon entering the shop, but he supposed it must have blended in with the musty and dark atmosphere. Ollivander gave a shudder. “Have you been feeling a bit angry lately, Tom?” His laughter was a nervous twitter as he took the wand and stowed it back in its box quickly and then waved his own wand to fix the damage.

 

“How about this one?” Ollivander offered him yet another wand. “Applewood, Phoenix Feather, twelve inches on the dot.” Ollivander said with a smile. Tom was a bit more hesitant about this one as he took it. Giving it a smaller wave, he waited with bated breath to see the outcome, but not for long.

 

With a loud snap, a nearby window exploded outward, the shards of glass scattered about the cobblestones, glittering in the sunrise outside the shop. Thankfully, it had been far too early to have caused anyone any harm.

 

Ollivander gulped hard as Tom’s eyebrows drew together in frustration. The wandmaker waved his own wand yet again, fixing the window instantly.

 

“…And this one?  Birchwood, unicorn hair, eleven inches.”  Ollivander’s pant leg caught on fire.

 

“Yew, dragon heartstring, twelve and a half inches?” Ollivander’s entire collection of pens winked out of existence.

 

“Redwood, dragon heartstring, thirteen inches?” Ollivander cringed as his entire work table dropped, the legs folding in on themselves, sending a splay of boxes and wood shavings about the floor.

 

The number of discarded wands was growing, just as the destruction to the shop was becoming a bit ridiculous, and Tom’s patience was clearly wearing thin. He gave the current wand a forceful jab at Ollivander, his fear and uncertainty turning quickly to burning anger as his eyes narrowed dangerously. “If you don’t find me something to work with-“

 

At that moment, a wand box shot off of the shelf, hitting Tom hard, squarely in the back of the head, and knocking him directly into Harry. Crying out in pain and surprise, Tom found that his landing had been cushioned by something rather warm and soft. Looking up, he blinked blearily at the sight of his guardian before realizing that he was currently, unwittingly pinning him down. Tom blushed bright red and withdrew himself speedily, shuffling himself backward before turning to shout at Ollivander, looking outraged beyond being slightly dizzy after taking a hit to the skull. He stood himself up on unsteady legs.

 

“Your damned wands are attacking-!”

 

“One more!” Ollivander interrupted pleadingly.  “Just one more try! English Oak, Phoenix Feather, thirteen and a half inches!” He fumbled with the offending box which he picked up off the ground, he withdrew the wand and quickly shoved stick into Tom’s hands before he could even think to refuse. The light wood seemed aged and proud in his hands.  The handle was ornately carved, fluid and regal.

 

With a frustrated, and slightly pained sigh, Tom waved the wand.

 

The immediate effect was dazzling. It was as though Tom’s wand had erupted into a stream of silver and gold. The flecks of the magic sprayed beautifully before him.  The warmth of the power coursing through his hand was strikingly familiar, as though he had been searching for this sensation all along from the beginning but the need for it had eluded him until the moment. Tom’s mouth was hanging open in amazement as he watched the shining stream rain down upon the store, glittering like diamonds as it fell.

 

_It looked…it seemed…it felt like Harry’s dream._

 

The stream gradually lessened and disappeared as though someone had cut off the valve of power it left a dazzling shimmer upon half the shop in its wake. Tom lowered his hand, speechless and pensive as he peered down at the wand.

Ollivander clapped his thin hands, clearly impressed, ridiculously satisfied by the outpouring of magic. “By Merlin, I think we got it!” He cried with a bark of laughter.

 

Xx

 

When Tom inadvertently began demolishing the shop with every new wand, Harry had to bite down on a knuckle to silence his giggling. It stung, and his shoulders were trembling with the effort, but Tom already looked upset enough without being laughed at. However, upon seeing Ollivander’s pant leg catch on fire, he doubled over and wheezed into his lap, clearly struggling not to break into roaring laughter. He didn’t manage to hold onto his composure when Ollivander’s quills disappeared.

 

He should have been worried. This was, after all, a sign that replacing Tom’s wand wasn’t going to be as easy as he had hoped. But as Ollivander looked wildly around in search of his quills, Harry couldn’t help but be amused.

 

“Oh, God, I’m sorry, I know this isn’t funny, I’m really sorry Tom,” he forced out between wheezing, gasping laughs, his fingers splayed over his mouth in a half-hearted attempt to further muffle the sound. He laughed even harder when Tom sent a box sailing into the back of his own head, but was finally, successfully silenced by Tom himself, who had just gone tumbling into him. Distracted as he had been with his own laughter, he just barely managed to catch him, throwing his arms up beneath Tom’s pits before his knees could impact with the hard ground. The boy scrambled out of his lap before as little as an ‘are you okay-?’ could be voiced.

 

Laughter having finally subsided, Harry quietly watched as Tom gave the phoenix feather wand a wave. Nothing exploded, thankfully. It instead emitted a most beautiful streak of silver and gold, and Harry was compelled out of his chair, cheering his congratulations as the magic withdrew.

 

“See? I knew everything would be alright.” He clapped Tom on the shoulder and turned a smile on Ollivander. “Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. How much do I owe you?”

 

Ollivanders attention had been drawn elsewhere. He raised a hand to forestall interruption, approaching his pile of wands. “Just a moment. One of my wands wishes to greet Tom, I believe…”

There was a sole, twitching box within Ollivander’s pile of wands, and it began moving so violently as he approached that the boxes around it trembled dangerously. The wand he removed was, Harry realized with a shock, _his_ wand; eleven inches, made of holly, containing a phoenix feather. Harry hoped it wasn’t about to offer it’s allegiance to Tom; he’d already picked out a fine wand.

 

However, as Ollivander went to extend it to Tom, it turned towards Harry on its own accord.

 

“Ah,” Ollivander looked quite surprised. “Seems I was mistaken. Mr. Potter, if you would…?”

 

He glanced down at the duplicate in his pocket, nervously nudging it out of sight, and then reached out and grabbed the wand. It warmed in his hand, emitting a series of colourful sparks.

 

Ollivander silently examined him for a very long time. When he finally spoke, his voice had been made soft by intrigue. “Twelve Galleons for both wands, Mr. Potter.”

 

Harry paid and ushered Tom out of the shop, his hand curled tight around the handle of his new wand. He shoved it into his pocket, down into the Mokeskin pouch Hagrid had given him for his seventeenth birthday.

 

“Looks like we both got a new wand,” he said. “I don’t suppose Fawkes gave a third feather? That’d be a- er.” It occurred to him that Tom likely hadn’t known Fawkes had been the one to donate a feather, if he knew of Fawkes at all. He wetted his lips. “Anyway, let’s go and get your cauldron. I think I’ll throw the cloak back on, if that’s alright?”

 

Xx

 

Tom’s hand was quivering slightly. His previous wand had not felt like this. In contrast, the Yew wand had felt cold in his grasp, a pristine, frigid blast of energy that seemed to somehow call him, cleanse him, drive him on to newer heights. Frankly, with his own needs and ambitions to achieve his goals, it seemed to make entirely too much sense that his old wand should have aligned itself so firmly with driving him forward. This new wand seemed…

 

Tom looked down at it. The fluid handle fit into his palm as though it were a very well-crafted glove. The wood was pale, but not bone white. It was regal, but not unapproachable. It felt welcome, yet stern. A caretaker to some variety.

 

Tom glanced at Harry. He was clamoring around, clapping like an idiot. Tom had a sudden urge to swat him away angrily for having laughed at him this entire escapade. He had the sudden burning urge to shove him away and petulantly demand that he apologize, even when he already had since they entered the shop. He wanted to demand just a bit more respect, because _how dare he make a mockery of the great Tom Riddle!_

 

But instead Tom broke out into laughter. The anger broke as quickly as it had come. It burned, flared and died away into the fast realization that he really had looked like a lunatic for the last half an hour or so while he methodically destroyed the shop and also wailed on himself in the back of the head. Tom had acted like an idiot. It had been the closest thing to a comedic skit he’d ever seen since…well, ever.

 

His laughter was light, almost bashful as he tried to cover the blush on his face by stowing his wand away in the pocket of his robes and busying himself with fixing his hair. How had his hair gotten so disheveled? He looked almost as rumpled as Harry!

 

When the second wand had sparked their attention and demanded to be given to Harry, Tom had to admit himself rather perplexed until he saw Harry nudge away his own wand in his pocket. _The duplicate of the wand before them_. Tom’s eyes widened in amazement and confusion. It was the same exact wand, after all. Was that even possible…?

 

Apparently so!  Harry gave it a perfunctory wave and a stream of red and gold sparks lit the room. A true Gryffindor to the core, but Tom didn’t have time to be too impressed with the display. Harry paid dutifully for the wands and ushered them out of the shop before Tom could interject with any questions.

 

Tom rubbed the back of his head as they exited the shop together. That was two times he had managed to smart himself within two hours at the most. Yet, even through the pain, Tom couldn’t help but feel pleased. The wand within his robes seemed to radiate warmth and pride and he couldn’t help but feel the same way about the entire display. “I can’t believe I set him on fire.” Tom chuckled, shaking his head.

 

“Fawkes?” He asked. “Is that a phoenix?” But before he could get too curious about the bird in question, Harry suggested that they head off to get cauldrons and school supplies.

 

 _“Absolutely not.”_ Tom snapped. “We’re going to Gringotts. If you must wear the cloak, go ahead, but I _insist_ we go there.” With a huff, he started off willfully down the street toward the towering Gringotts building, expecting Harry to follow.

 

Xx

 

Whatever it was Tom needed to do, Harry decided he could do it on his own. He had no desire to enter Gringotts while visible, but nor did he want to chance entering beneath his invisibility cloak. If something went awry with his cloak, the goblins would probably incarcerate him just to make sure he hadn’t been planning something, and if they got together with the ministry to review his criminal history… Harry wasn’t sure he’d be able to talk his way out of _that_ predicament.

 

With his mind now on Gringotts, Harry neglected to answer Tom’s question regarding Fawkes. “How about you go to Gringotts and do… whatever it is you’re going to do there.” He hoped Tom wasn’t about to empty his account of what little funds it had to pay for his materials, assuming he even _had_ an account and wasn’t borrowing from the school. Harry would feel even worse if it turned out he was going to use what little funds Hogwarts provided instead of saving it for later use.

“I’ll get your cauldrons, in the meantime. I have your list here.” He glanced at his pocket, which was so full that it was protruding. “Well… somewhere in there. Don’t worry, I remember what type you need.”

 

With his cloak flung over his head, he turned and set off back down the street before Tom could protest, hurrying past a growing crowd of witches and wizards, many of whom were herding their children from shop to shop. Harry allowed himself to be wholly visible before he slipped into Potage’s Cauldron Shop; he didn’t want to scare anyone by making his purchase while invisible. Fifteen minutes into examining the various types of cauldrons, debating on whether or not he and Tom needed one for home, the repercussions of removing the cloak arrived in the form of a heavy hand on his shoulder.

 

“Out rather early, aren’t you? One might think you’re trying to hide from something.”

 

Harry jumped so high that he nearly pushed over an entire shelf of cauldrons. He heard Lord Black laugh and a soft titter accompany it. Glancing over his shoulder, he realized with dread that Lord Black was flanked by a _Malfoy_.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I don’t really have time to talk. I have work at nine.” He shrugged off Lord Black’s hand as he spoke, selecting the cauldron closest to him and hurrying across the shop, digging into a pocket for the necessary coins. By the time he’d paid for his items and stowed them away in a paper bag, Lord Black had crossed what little space he’d put between them and resumed speaking.

 

“Oh, I won’t be taking up much of your time. I only wish to extend an invitation.” A hand around his forearm prevented him from fleeing again. “Your unique perspective is desired at a Christmas celebration that will be taking place over the holidays. As it won’t be taking place for some months, you’ve plenty of time to prepare a speech.” A slip of parchment was shoved into his pocket. “Mr. Malfoy here will be the one to pick you up; don’t worry, we’ll be able to find you.”

 

“Until then, Harry,” said Malfoy.

 

With a broad grin and one last squeeze of Harry’s forearm, Black withdrew and exited the shop with Malfoy trailing behind.

 

Harry didn’t even bother to look at the invitation before throwing it away. He had no intention of going, nor being forced to go; if he had to duel Malfoy to make sure of that, he had months to prepare an offence.

 

Xx

 

There was a part of Tom that was thankful that Harry had not followed along. He would have never even slightly approved of what Tom was about to do, and yet, there was a nagging feeling in the back of Tom’s mind that would not let him sit still while Harry took care of him these past few weeks.

 

Had it really just been a few weeks?  Merlin, it felt like it had been years since he had met the impulsive idiot with the startlingly, guileless smile. Harry, whose mood was rarely shaken, but when it was it, turned from easygoing to deadly in seconds. It was a jarring reality, but it certainly kept Tom on his toes.

 

Tom approached the counter a practiced air of confidence. The goblins looked down on Tom distaste and it immediately had him gritting his teeth. Yet, the assumed dislike that the goblin’s scowls seemed to imply was nothing new to the poor student. Those who were poor enough to need the funds from Hogwarts for school supplies were seen as lower than the lowest drivel that the goblins would associate with. They were scum, a waste of time and space. In a goblin’s eyes, how dare Tom be impoverished in a world so demanding of money and gold? How dare he stand so brazenly out in the open when he should be out, searching for wealth at every possible turn.

 

Brazen was exactly what Tom was being, and he knew it. He strode confidently up to the desk with a swagger he saved especially for these grim, filthy, greedy creatures. He gave the goblin at the counter a condescending smile, knowing how the small, black eyes would narrow angrily in response.

 

“Surely you know who you speak to, goblin, but for your own sake, my name is Tom Riddle.” Tom began, his voice fluid and soft. “I need my account emptied. There are business ventures which I-”

 

“I remember you from your previous years.” The creature growled, its pen shaking in fury as the goblin’s grip around it tightened. “You are the _poor orphan boy from Hogwarts_.” The goblin verbally jabbed. “Now gotten yourself into a bit of a debt, surely. Keys?” He held out his hand expectantly.

 

“You assume too much. There are no debts whatsoever to be paid, _goblin_.” Tom procured them with a flourish that expertly hid his inner turmoil and anger at the fact that this goblin was quite a bit more correct than comfort would allow. This was everything he had, including the stipend which the school gave to him on a yearly basis for new supplies and books. This was also including the meager amount he had managed to save up over the years, bit by bit by bit.

 

He remembered the imploring look in Harry’s eyes, and then the anger with which he had attacked just the night before. _Nothing is free,_ he reminded himself. Harry’s good graces and patience were already wearing off quickly and it would not be long before…

 

Before what? He was cast off once again? Abandoned? Killed? And yet, Harry’s care-taking and patience had to be repaid. It would be a shame to his honor to allow these debts to stand, a shame to his noble family name.

 

_What family?_

 

Tom gulped hard and made a show of yawning with boredom as the goblin returned to his desk carrying a small, clanking velvet case. “Seventy two galleons, thirteen sickles and four knuts.” The goblin announced, shoving the satchel in Tom’s direction with a wide, toothy grin.

 

“Thank you, thank you. I must say, I’m so impressed with your customer service, goblin. It was almost as good as being served by a human.” Tom remarked with a beautiful smile. “ _Almost_.” And before the goblin could retaliate, or jump across the desk to throttle him, Tom turned on heel and left the bank without a second glance. There was really no need to look back to know the death glares he was receiving from the goblins. They deserved to be put in their place for implying his worthlessness.

 

Poor orphan boy, indeed.

 

Finding Harry was not a hard task. He remembered Harry mentioning that he would be buying his other school supplies, cauldrons, if Tom recalled correctly. He made his way down the street and just managed to duck into a nearby alleyway after spotting the pale, stone-faced glare of Lord Black, followed closely by the simpering Lord Malfoy. His breath caught at exactly how close he had been to being spotted by them, but they seemed far too pleased with themselves as they passed to even bother to notice him sneaking by in the other direction.

 

Tom slipped into the potion supplies shop, glancing around worriedly for Harry. Those two idiots had just exited this place. What could they have possibly done in here?   _Was Harry alright?_ Anxiety suddenly gripped at Tom’s stomach. _What if something had happened to him? What would he do?_

 

Xx

 

The cauldron he’d purchased was one size too large to be used at school. Harry sighed as he turned it over in his hands; he’d just paid for it, but he didn’t want to have to ask for a refund. He’d just have to make sure to use it at home so it didn’t end up going to waste. Upon returning to the shelves, Harry caught sight of Tom’s face – heavily distorted – in the reflection of a gold cauldron and turned around, waving him over.

 

“I haven’t got your cauldrons yet, but that’s mostly because… uh…“ He faltered when he saw Tom’s expression, the pale skin around his eyes and the knit of his brow. He almost looked frightened. “Tom, what’s wrong? Why do you look so-?” As realization dawned on Harry, his mouth fell into a perfect ‘o’ shape; Tom must have seen Malfoy and Black. He couldn’t have been stopped by them if he was here now, because surely they wouldn’t have dislodged their talons from him if they’d discovered him wandering around? So the source of his fright must be…

 

Harry was blatantly staring at him now. This wasn’t the first time Harry had seen Tom Riddle panic, but it was the first he’d seen him panic about something that wasn’t his own well-being.

He hesitated, and then pulled the appropriate cauldrons off the shelf and pushed them into Tom’s hands. “We’ll get these and then go back to Hogsmeade by apparition.” Whatever Tom’s concerns were, this wasn’t an ideal time to voice them; Malfoy and Black were still roaming Diagon Alley, and if they spotted Tom and Harry together, Harry didn’t like to think of what the repercussions would be.

 

Xx

 

The instant that Tom saw Harry, he felt relief wash over him, completely replacing the gripping tension throughout his body. Tom hadn’t realized his expressions had been so apparent, that his worries were so unusually clear on his face, but anxiety had had been replaced with urgent concern.

 

“What happened? What were Lord Black and Malfoy doing here? You don’t seem harmed…” Tom’s voice low undertones, lacking all of their usual, smooth finesse, demanding answers taking priority. Harry seemed to be caught in the middle of ‘understanding’ or realizing something, but Tom couldn’t begin to know what or where to begin. Reading Harry’s mind was out of the question. Their dwindling time would never allow for it, and Harry would clock him on the spot for the transgression, particularly after their heated exchange just before this trip.

 

There wasn’t time to grill him on the necessities, or why he was holding some randomly size and, why he was grabbing at the correctly sized ones now, as opposed to when he had presumably entered the shop ages ago, or what had really gone on between him and the ‘dynamic duo’ that had just exited and were making their way down the street, looking right as rain. Harry rushed off to the register before Tom could even begin. Tom knew that this was a necessity, but it didn’t make getting 'shrugged off’ any easier. The fact that Lord Black and his tag-along could be lurking just outside if they realized that their targets were still getting their supplies was certainly no comfort on top of this.

 

“Let’s get going.” Tom insisted in clipped tones, seeing Harry return with the correct supplies. He grabbed at Harry’s arm and pulled him to the back of the shop, to the back door. Now that they were surrounded with a crowd of young students and parents, it was far easier to hide among all of the different faces. After slipping out into the alleyway, Tom was sure to add, “You can explain _everything_ when we return.”

 

Xx

 

When Tom Riddle insisted upon something, that something generally happened. Unless you were Harry James Potter, of course, but even Harry had to let the natural order of things resume on occasion. Therefore he didn’t protest as he was guided to the back exit, walking briskly beside Tom until they were in the alleyway. He then checked that Tom still had a tight grip on him and turned, apparating them straight into the Three Broomsticks.

 

Unfortunately, he’d quite forgotten the exact placement of the coffee table and they ended up landing on top of it, causing it to collapse in on itself.

 

Once they had clambered off and Harry had cast a repairing spell, he seated himself on the settee in preparation to oblige Tom’s earlier demand.

“It’s alright, Tom. They just wanted to-” He wasn’t a bad liar. He could be quite adept at it when he wanted to be. The only problem was, Harry’s ability to lie was determined by who he was lying to, and he’d never been as good at lying to his friends as he had his enemies, and Tom was now firmly in the former category.

 

“They wanted to bother me, that’s all.” He avoided Tom’s eyes as he spoke, fiddling with the cauldron he’d purchased. Maybe he’d brew a simple healing potion tonight, just to see how sturdy it was. “They do it all the time,” he continued. “Come up to me, say a few snobby things, and then walk off. It’s nothing to get worked up about. “

 

Xx

 

Tom and Harry crashed into their room at the Three Broomsticks and directly into their coffee table. It was a mess of flailing limbs, broken furniture and half-formed curses. Just another day in the adventures of Tom Marvolo Riddle and his reluctant guardian, Harry James Potter.

 

He gave an exasperated sigh as he picked himself up out of the wreckage and began to brush the dust and dirt from his robes. It was only at this second that he realized that he could have easily apparated them back rather than depending on his companion, now that he had a wand at his disposal. Shaking his head he rubbed at his smarting elbow before trying to pick the wood splinters from his usually immaculate hair.

 

That made two times he had banged his head, and two times he had violently crashed into Harry’s arms for some reason or another. Tom had the vaguest feeling that _fate_ had it out for him.

 

Tom watched Harry as the other man promptly fixed their broken table with a wave of his wand and then went on to cobble together the lamest rendition of a lie that he had heard in quite a while. He might as well have told Tom that the ‘dog ate his homework’. Tom chuckled bitterly, shaking his head as he rounded on Harry. It almost seemed as though he were about to attack the shorter man, but Tom’s hands began to pat away the dust that clung to his robes and hair.

 

“Dammit all, Harry. If you’re going to tell a lie, make it a convincing one, would you?” He snapped, angrily pulling Harry’s robes straight and fixing his bow tie. “Just tell me what they really wanted. We can’t possibly plan a counter attack if you hide the initial exchange. The fact that we got away can work to our advantage!” Tom insisted, his dark eyes focusing just a bit too hard on Harry’s for a split second before realizing that he really could not chance reading his mind again. Not for quite a while after the fiasco last night.

 

Xx

 

He should have expected Tom Riddle, Master of Lies and Deceit, wouldn’t fall for something so feeble. Ron would have believed it – Hermione would have been suspicious, but Tom? He’d always been a very perceptive young man.

 

Tom seemed to be venting his frustration with Harry out on Harry’s robes, which he was adjusting much to sharply for it to be a thoughtful gesture. He supposed Tom had to do _something_ to show Harry he didn’t appreciate having someone lie straight to his face, and since he wouldn’t be able to get away with, say, a stinging hex, he had to settle with assaulting Harry’s clothes.

 

It was actually kind of funny. Harry had to bite his lip to stop himself from breaking into a smile.

“’We’? There’s not going to be a ‘we’, Tom; you’re _sixteen_ . I know I was off fighting people twice my age when _I_ was sixteen, but that doesn’t mean I want _you_ doing it.” He gently brushed Tom’s hands away, setting the cauldron down on the arm of the chair. “There isn’t going to be any need for a ‘counter attack’, anyway. All they wanted was to harass me, like I said. If they’d wanted to do anything else, don’t you think they would have done it? I mean, there was a back door, and I had my back turned.” He shrugged.

 

“You’re getting worked up over nothing. You should be worrying about how embarrassing it’s going to be getting three letters a week from your uncle – cousin – whatever it is I’ve been calling myself recently. Ah- that reminds me.” An opportunity to change the subject had arisen. “I’ve noticed you don’t have an owl or… any other kind of pet, so as a kind of… very early Christmas present, I’m going to get you one. My friend Ron was allowed a rat, so I think you ought to be allowed what I have in mind.”

 

Xx

 

Harry’s mouth seemed to tighten with the slight effort of holding back a grin. Tom huffed in indignation, his eyes narrowing dangerously as Harry still insisted on his ridiculous story.  Not only his mismanaged lie, but also forcing Tom out of his plans entirely, due to some foolish display of chivalry or the belief that Tom might not be up to the task. Pointing out his age was doing no good whatsoever. Tom seemed to raise his hackles even more at the mere suggestion and he would not stay silent for long.  

 

“How dare you!” Tom snapped, gesturing angrily. “Do you think me weak, Harry? Do you think I can’t defend myself if given the chance?” He began, his voice all too telling that he was about to get on a roll. He drew himself up proudly, as though to emphasize his self-assured nature. “I, who am at the top of my class in every subject? I am well on my way to becoming an expert duelist! I have the blood of Salazar Slytherin running through my veins! I am a force to be reckoned with and I won’t be cowed by the surly likes of Lord Black and his idiotic followers! **How dare you imply that I cannot handle-** … _wait, did you say ‘pet’?”_

Tom stopped dead in his tracks, the finger poised at Harry’s chest slowly receded as his anger ebbed from his face and faded into perplexed confusion. His eyebrows drew together as he let out a long sigh. Tom blinked a few times and opened his mouth again before snapping it shut and shaking his head.

 

There weren’t words for the sensation, the warmth which was spreading from his torso all the way to his fingertips. When he realized his face felt quite heated, he had to assume he was blushing at this point as well. “Ah, it would be nice. Really, you shouldn’t. There’s no-…” Tom paused, shaking his head. “I’ve…never had the funds to take care of an animal, Harry.” He admitted. Telling the truth while looking at his counterpart was difficult but he forced himself to do so regardless.

 

“The letters though, I’ve never had letters before.” Tom thought back on sitting at Slytherin table with all of his fellow Knights, of having an owl fly specifically to land right before him. He would unwrap the letter and read it to himself, laughing mysteriously when all of his Knights kept inquiring ‘What’s going on, Tom?’ ‘Who is sending you all of these, Tom?’ And they would be special letters. Letters for him. Specifically for him. Always just for him. Little stories about Harry’s job, or the idiotic things that the restaurant patrons would do, or stories about how hard it was to get good ale around Hogsmeade. Maybe even some times when Tom would be able to visit.

 

“…I’d like that.” Tom admitted, his voice tight with confusion.

 

Xx

 

An expert duelist and talented wizard though he was, Harry couldn’t forget how easy it had been to overpower him, to restrain him. He was still, despite all his talent, a sixteen year old boy; he didn’t have any real world experience. He hadn’t been in a duel where it was either win or be killed; he hadn’t experienced being on the receiving end of a curse intended to inflict unfathomable harm, felt the malice and ruthlessness in another person’s spellwork, and Harry had no intention of introducing him to that lifestyle.

 

It was a relief when his distraction successful took hold, and he smiled winningly up at his ward, rising from the couch so fast that Tom’s finger skimmed the length of his shirt.

 

“I know I’ve ruined the surprise by telling you now, but I suppose that doesn’t much matter since it’s an early Christmas present.” He placed a hand on either side of Tom, gave him a squeeze, almost as though readying to pull him in for a hug, and then dropped his hands and strode over to an ornate mirror that hung beside the door. While he was standing there, he made a vague attempt to neaten his unruly hair.

 

“I’ll bring it tomorrow after work.” Having given up on his hair, he instead shed his winter robes and reached for the much thinner, nicer cloak hanging on the back of the door. This one was mandatory for work.

 

“Which I have to get to now, coincidentally. I’ve only got twenty minutes.” Casting one last smile at Tom, Harry made his exit.  

 

Twenty minutes to nine was too early to be setting off, quite honestly, but this was the only sure way to make sure Tom wouldn’t try to broach the topic of Lord Black again. Hopefully they would be out of his mind completely by the time Harry returned; he didn’t fancy having another argument over that ponce.


	6. His Mother's Legacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we know by now, this is a compilation of a roleplay between myself (https://riddlemostpowerful.tumblr.com/) and HeroComplexing (http://herocomplexing.tumblr.com/). I played Tom, while my companion played Harry. Their writing is SO VERY GOOD. You should definitely follow them.
> 
> My sweet, adorable, wonderful, awesome buddy Grace Lee (https://darklorddiscourse.tumblr.com/) collected most of the posts together for me, so I owe her a huge thanks. She's an incredible writer as well. She's so awesome.
> 
> As always, please, please, please, please, leave comments for me. Those comments make all of this storytelling worthwhile, and I love you for taking the time to write them. Of course, if you're pressed for time and you can't leave a comment, I totally understand and I'm grateful to even have you reading my stuff, so thank you. Kudos are always appreciated. 
> 
> As always, thank you all for just being your wonderful selves. I hope that you enjoy the direction that this story is going. :)

Tom sat staring at a book. He could fool himself into believing that he was actually reading it, but in reality, it served as a point he could focus his eyes as his thoughts raced onward. He had never been one to allow himself to wallow, but the events of the past twenty four hours had left him winded and numb.  His observations had been overwhelming him and the only clear sensation that bubbled to the surface was that warmth and that smile. _Harry_.

 

Prometheus had stolen the fire of the Gods. He had dared to blatantly oppose the will of Zeus and all that he stood for in his omniscience and omnipotence to give the warmth of fire to humankind. He had stolen something he had never been prithee to, and was never meant to touch or know.

 

Perhaps Prometheus had wanted to feel warm as well. Tom chuckled bitterly as he set the book aside. Greek myths seemed to be clogging his thoughts, which were already racing. His homework had already been completed days ago, and thus he had nothing too much to distract him aside from wandering around Hogsmeade. He was in no mood to fake beautiful smiles and pleasant words with the shopkeepers and thus he had kept to the outskirts most of the day.  Waiting impatiently, but for what?

 

The tension within him had felt astounding, tied into a neat little knot in his stomach, running up the length of his arms and causing his hands to shake when he wasn’t keeping careful control of himself. His father’s screams sounded shrill in the background of it all. He felt as though his sanity was dribbling away along with the rest of his dreams of immortality. One fact had seemed startlingly clear to him, above all the white noise of his mind: he needed to finish this. He dreaded closure, and yet he knew it was inevitable, just as Prometheus knew he would be savaged every day only to wake up to a new torture.

 

_You know what will happen. You know what you are. You know what your father is. Filthy, dirty, little bastard orphan. Harry knows. Harry pities you only so far as he can control you. He wants you compliant or dead._

 

The knot of tension clenched angrily. He felt the weight of his wand in his pocket, the bright, sparkling power it held. He gulped heavily and tried hard to clear his thoughts, to ground himself. He needed to get sorted out above all else.

 

Xx

 

For the kind of grunt work Harry did, he was paid reasonably well. It wasn’t minimum wage, but nor was it high. It was enough to get him by with any surplus put aside for frivolities and the eventual purchase of a house. The only problem was, there was no time to think while working; he often worked nonstop until his thirty minute break, during which he would eat whatever was available in the employee fridge (he usually gobbled down pickles and cheese on crackers), have a warm butterbeer, and socialize with his fellow waiters and waitresses. It was only after the end of his shift that he would be given time to contemplate Tom and housing and life in general, and it was valuable time seeing as after work seemed to be when he was most cognizant, most likely to come to conclusions he wouldn’t have otherwise reached.

 

Today, however, he was interrupted. He’d been on the cusp of finally deciding how to approach Tom about his use of legilimency when he encountered the boy meandering through the streets. He almost slipped on the cobble stones as he came to an abrupt a few feet away from him, and he spent a few moments examining the anxious lines on Tom’s face before he spoke.

 

(Was it just hopeful thinking, or was he getting better at reading Tom? Externally, that was; not through use of magic.)

 

“You’re out late,” he said, casting a look to the pink and orange and yellow streaking through the clouds, the dollop of light that was the sun slowly descending below the distant mountains. Stars would begin to show themselves within the next few hours, but Harry had no intention of lingering long enough to see them. He wanted to get back indoors, back to shelter and good food; he wanted to eat something more filling than the scones he’d had for lunch today.

 

Extending an arm, he touched the tips of his fingers to the small of Tom’s waist in an attempt to get him moving in the direction of their lodgings.

“Let’s go inside and get something to eat. They’re doing some sort of foreign steak and pumpkin and sweet potato soup today.”

 

Whatever was troubling Tom, he would ask him about it over dinner. He might be more inclined to share with a full belly.

 

“And I know you have money on you,” he added, eyeing Tom’s pockets. “But I can pay for dinner. You can use that for something more important, like some clothes you can wear outside school.”

 

Xx

 

Tom was staring rather blankly at Harry. His ability to be logical despite everything that had occurred between them was startling, yet nothing out of his character. Everyone needed to eat, to sleep, to function and move on with their lives. And despite it all, he was always putting Tom first. Damn it all, he had even gotten his job so that he could offer them some semblance of stability in everyday life _and for what_? So he could continue sitting down with Tom night after night over a glass of wine and a mug of ale and laughing about…nothing in particular? Was this really what he wanted?

 

But Tom didn’t have the ability to worry about that right now, he had to prioritize his issues. He was hearing Harry’s words, knowing what they meant, but his comprehension only went so far as his warm tone and the fact that he was so comfortingly _present_. Tom gulped, not saying a word as he stared at his counterpart. The pieces to this mess of a puzzle were coming together too quickly and he felt that if he waited any longer now, he would lose his nerve.

 

Tom needed to know why he had been so addicted to Harry’s dreams, why he kept reaching for warmth that always seemed to elude him. Above all else, he needed closure.

 

Tom reached out and grabbed Harry’s outstretched arm firmly. “I need you with me.” He said as though it were all the justification he needed. He withdrew his wand from his light summer robes and with a crack like a whip, they disappeared.

 

Tom stared blankly now at the Riddle manor, looming in the brilliance of the sunset, stark like a headstone jutting up solidly from the ground, magnificent as it was overpowering. His jaw tightened and he handed his wand to Harry. “I won’t be needing this.”

 

He wouldn’t. Tom was telling the truth. He knew exactly what would happen, knew how his father would react, he knew the catastrophe he was stepping directly into but something within him wouldn’t let him stop thinking of moving forward. He feared if he stopped, he would never start again.  He thought back on his mother, how she probably never quite understood why she had reached out for the warmth and the light, and had so horribly distorted it, of how Tom himself knew of the distortion and had done the same regardless.

 

He made his way to the manner, walking with purposeful determination, head held high despite the uncertainty in his eyes. He truly was his mother’s son, after all.

 

Xx

 

Harry would have responded had he been given the opportunity, but when he opened his mouth they were already spinning, being sucked up through the air, traveling within the blink of an eye past blurs of indistinguishable scenery. He’d forgotten when he had wanted to say by the time they landed, his mind buzzing with the aftershock of the unexpected apparition. He stumbled on the grass beneath his feet, grappling for composure while Tom strode ahead of him as resolutely as a soldier going to war.  

 

“Tom, what the hell-?” His eyes were drawn to the sight of the Riddle mansion, tall and regal against the darkening sky. Harry hurried after Tom with apprehension gripping his chest; he had Tom wand, but that was just as much a concern as it was a reassurance considering one of the Riddles had tried to shoot Tom last time they’d been here.

 

“Tom!” He reached for Tom’s wrist. “Just stop a minute and tell me what you’re doing! Because if you’re intending to talk to your dad and grandparents – they don’t know who you are, because I obliviated them, and I don’t think it’d be a good idea to give them incentive to remember!” He finally managed to grab a hold of Tom’s wrist, yanking him back. “The last time you were here your grandpa – or was it your dad? Either way, one of them leapt for the gun cabinet! What about any of that is making this seem like a good idea?”

 

Xx

 

The slight head start that Tom had gained just from shocking his counterpart wore off quickly. Harry was racing after Tom in seconds, the urgency and fear in his voice was unmistakable as he tried to reason with him. Tom pulled away from his grasping hands for only a few moments before Harry managed to take hold of Tom’s wrist.

 

“It makes no difference.” Tom replied without hesitation. It was foolish to think that erasing their memories would have changed anything at all. The proof was clearly written across Tom’s face, within every feature, every mannerism all the way down to the way his dark, wavy hair lay on his head. He felt himself being yanked back and he feared if he lost momentum now, he might not bring himself to move forward again. If he stopped to think, to talk himself out of this, he would never find the strength to come back to it.

 

It would be so easy to agree to him, to turn around and see those imploring green eyes once again and know he could just as easily return with Harry and pretend that it never happened, it was a minor lapse in judgment, there was nothing to worry about. Maybe he would be able to ignore the memories of his father screaming, how it meshed sickeningly in his mind with the wail of an air raid warning.

 

Tom concentrated on the feel of Harry’s hand against his wrist. Warmth flooded him and the internal sirens silenced.

 

“You won’t understand.” Tom snapped, turning, holding Harry by the shoulders at arm’s length. “Your mother died to save your life. My mother died to rather than be part of mine. You were born of love. I was born of rape.” He spoke, his voice tight with anger, hardly knowing where the words were coming from now. “I know why she did it. I know why she did what she did and he deserves to know-”

 

Tom’s words got stuck in his throat. He looked up imploringly at Harry. “You don’t have to come with me. _I have to go_.” He didn’t want to admit he was savoring the moment with Harry, the excuse of looking down at him before he tore himself away and continued doggedly forward. He didn’t want to think of how tall the Manor home was before he approached it, of how solidly built the wooden door seemed as it darkened in the faint light of the sunset. Of how intimidated he was by what he was about to do.

 

Without allowing himself hesitation, he raised his fist and knocked solidly three times before letting the side of his hand rest on the outside surface. _What had he done? What was he doing? What was he even planning on saying?_

 

_Xx_

 

Harry opened and closed his mouth, struggling to form words. He wanted to reassure Tom, tell him he _did_ understand, that he had no intention of stopping him from doing what he felt was right. But Tom was already moving, and the words were dying on his lips, replaced by a buzzing anxiety at the possibility Riddle Sr. would react violently to the reminder of what Merope had put him through.

 

He didn’t try to reach for Tom again. He merely sped up, walking alongside him and up the hill to where the manor stood tall and ominous before the scattered light of the descending sun. They came to a stop before the door, and Tom knocked. The sound was loud in the quiet of the evening. It was so quiet, in fact, that they could hear the soft thud of approaching footsteps and the sound of complaints muttered under heavy breathing.

 

It was Tom’s grandfather who opened the door. His dark eyes flicked between the two of them, his brow furrowing at the sight of Harry’s offensive mop of black hair, and furrowing even further at the clear similarities between Tom and his own son. There was a long pause, during which the senior Riddle stared at Tom, examining his hair, his nose, and then his chin, before finally deciding this was an encounter best fled from. The door started to close.

 

Harry stuck his leg inside before they could be locked out. “Sorry,” he said, pushing the door open slowly so to not harm the muggle. “I’m from the Department of Human Services. I and my client require a word with your son.”

 

Grandfather Riddle grunted. “And that’s usual employee attire, is it?”

 

“Oh! No, this was just for the journey. Little Hangleton is a bit out of the way.”

 

“I see.” His lips had thinned, his eyes still glued to Tom’s face. “Well, since you’re here for my son, I suppose you’ll have some paperwork and identification on you? Because you aren’t going to get far without those.”

 

“Yeah, ‘course I do.” He shoved a hand into a pocket, used a non-verbal spell, and withdrew a blank piece of paper, presenting it to Senior Riddle.

 

After reading the piece of paper with an increasingly pallid complexion, the muggle sighed and opened the door, grunting “Come in, then” as he hobbled his way inside.

 

Once he was out of sight, Harry sent a nervous grin Tom’s way. “Well, they’re… legally obligated to listen, now. So…” He gestured to the hallway. “Shall we?”

 

Xx

 

As it turned out, it was lucky for Tom that Harry was there to cover up for the impromptu visit with the most skilled amount of lying that Tom had ever seen him muster up. True, the lies were rather thin and easily contested, but he had to give credit where credit was due because Tom currently felt as though his tongue had turned to lead and his brain could create nothing aside from an angry buzz of anxiety which he suspected he was picking up from Harry somehow.

 

Tom could do nothing but nod woodenly in confirmation to Harry as they were granted entry. His heart was racing as he soaked in every detail, the dark wood of the walls, the animal head trophies hanging above them, staring glassy-eyed down at the guests, the ornate carvings adorning each piece of furniture. Everything seemed so much more vivid, more alive than when he remembered it from the night he had been interrupted by Harry.

 

The setting sun cast a brilliant glow on the sitting room they exited into.  The elder Riddle had disappeared speedily into the hallways beyond, probably to get his son as he had confirmed before, all while casting them grim, suspicious glances from under a heavy, regal brow.

 

Tom surveyed the broad stone fireplace, the sumptuous velvet of the cushions of the chairs, the dark wood of the floors and the brilliant golden and red threads of the rugs beneath their feet. He gulped heavily, thinking of how nice such things would be in the winter, how comfortable the house must be kept. Quite different from Wool’s, where they could barely afford rations, let alone extra quilts in this time of war. He glanced at Harry and opened his mouth to speak, but found that he had nothing to say. No sarcastic comment, no disparaging remarks, no insightful reminders, nothing at all. He snapped his mouth shut again, staying uncharacteristically silent.

 

Seconds ticked by but it felt like hours before there was a noise within the western corridor. Tom’s attention snapped to the doorway, his heart hammering so hard he felt he could hear nothing over the sound of it.

 

Two figures emerged from the hallway. A shorter, stout woman with iron gray hair had her hand delicately placed on the back of the man that could only be Tom’s father. The resemblance was unmistakable. He was tall, elegantly built with dark, nearly colorless eyes which matched his dark wavy hair. The years had aged him, though. Worry lined his eyes and the sharp edges of his cheekbones still looked becoming or handsome, with a tinge of gaunt and underfed. He looked forward first at Harry. “You said you wanted to see me?” Riddle Senior’s voice was soft, tired.

 

Confusion passed over his features before he cast his gaze to Tom.

 

Realization slowly dawned on him and Tom tried not to fidget under his watchful eyes, not realizing how he was drinking in every detail of the other man. He swallowed hard, hardly knowing how to begin beyond the memories raging in his mind, of the broken dreams of expecting a stupendous wizard father who would have been so pleased, so charmed to have had his clever son find him.

 

“My name is Tom Riddle.” Tom forced the words out, noticing how thin they sounded as they echoed in the huge parlor that they currently found themselves. Tom made a placating gesture with his hands. “I know that must sound strange to you, but-”

 

“You’re her son, _aren’t you_?”  There was fear in his voice and Tom’s father swayed dangerously and the older woman caught him by the arm, helping steady him, casting the younger Tom a panicked look as though he were a growling animal. Tom’s father’s eyes widened in disbelief and horror as he stared pointed at Tom’s hands. “You’re the son of that wicked woman.” He whispered, his voice quivering.

 

Tom fought to keep his breathing even. “Merope was my mother. You’re correct. She’s was-”

 

“You have her hands. Oh God almighty, you must be just like her…” Tom’s father cut himself off, as if unable to voice the atrocity and the actions he had done while under the influence of her magic. The woman by his side attempted to calm him, but he would have none of it.

 

“She had no idea the damage she was doing. Merope was deeply troubled-” Tom’s voice was soft and comforting, but his jaw tightened dangerously.

 

“She drugged me!  That filthy, evil demon forced me to be her husband!” His father cried out.

 

“She had no idea what love was! When she saw you, she clung to you and had no concept-” Tom’s voice was becoming smaller, uncharacteristically desperate as he fought to make himself heard over his father’s horrified and upset cries.

 

“She was a demon!   _Just like your entire filthy race of hellspawn!_ ” His father spat. Tom visibly flinched and clenched his fist. Whatever color had been left in his face drained out immediately.

 

_“Silence!”_

 

Just as the commotion seemed to raise to a crescendo, it came to a sudden, frigid stop. Tom turned to the source of the interjection and found that he was staring down the barrel of a long, hunting rifle. His grandfather held the gun deftly, and his hands were steady from years of practice, although his grey eyes were uncertain. Tom jumped instinctively, not noticing how his hand shot out to grab at Harry and pull him behind him.

 

“Get out. Do not use our name. Do not come back.” Was the only order that came from behind the rifle. Tom backed away slowly, his hands held aloft. To his credit, despite all of his fear he was not shaking.

 

“I’m sorry.” Tom blurted out. The words sounded uncomfortable, foreign on his lips. “I’m sorry for what she did to you. That was all that I-” Tom started, tearing his eyes away from the gun to look at his father’s terrified face. His mouth tightened. “That will be all. You have my thanks.”

 

Xx

 

As they strode side by side into the sitting room, Harry’s eyes were drawn to all the same things Tom’s were; the finely woven rug beneath their feet, the dark floorboards, the stone fireplace and the beautiful mantelpiece tastefully decorated with trinkets of various shapes and size; there was a painting of a regal man hanging above the fire, looking down at them with dark, beady eyes, his long-fingered hands folded neatly in his lap. The boys were genetically predisposed to be miniatures of their fathers, it seemed, though this man had a neat black mustache that was absent on any of the remaining Riddle boys.

Harry couldn’t help but notice how large the room was, far too large for a scant three people. Even twenty people wouldn’t fill it to capacity. It reminded Harry somewhat of the Hogwarts common rooms, beautiful, warm, and welcoming, even if the people who owned it weren’t. He continued surveying the room long after Tom had lost the will to do anything but stand there as still as a statue, and sought out the gun cabinet from earlier. Before he could complete this task, his attention snapped to an elderly Mrs. Riddle guiding her son into the room. Neither of them looked happy to have guests, and their moods only descended further when they saw Tom.

 

Harry had known this wasn’t going to end well the moment they’d arrived at Little Hangleton, but he thought it to himself again regardless.

 

_This isn’t going to end well. This isn’t going to end well at all._

 

He was tense and ready to spring throughout Tom’s entire conversation with his father, and might have made an attempt to rip the gun out of Riddle Seniors hands had Tom not pushed him back and positioned his own body in the line of fire. The fact Tom was trying to protect him was so startling that he momentarily forgot to be angry about the hostility.

 

And then they were being shepherded out by the barrel of a gun, Harry trailing along behind Tom, peering over his shoulder periodically. He considered sending the gun slamming into a wall… but that would have been incredibly petty and vindictive.

 

Once they were out of harm’s way, Harry did something it was unlikely Tom had ever experienced before: he threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him down into a hug, his body warm against Tom’s chilled skin. He smelled faintly of dust and old books and his hair was so long that it ticked Harry’s cheek. When he turned his head to speak into Tom’s ear, his chin brushed against Tom’s clavicle.

 

“Sorry that didn’t go so well,” he said. “But you did great, Tom. That was – really decent of you. Really brave.”

 

The boy had just confronted his father; he needed comfort; something to ground him. And Harry had never been that great at comforting people, but he would do it to the best of his ability for those he cared about. Especially someone like Tom, who sorely needed positive reinforcement in his life.

When he finally dislodged their bodies, he let a hand linger on Tom’s forearm.

 

“Ready to go back? We can get some of that soup.”

 

Xx

 

The door slammed shut behind him. Tom looked back at the manor house towering above him. The final few rays of light were gleaming off, casting a muted red and gold across the landscape, lighting the doorway so it looked less like thick wood and more like gleaming bronze.

 

Without warning, Harry was pulling him down. With a panicked flail, Tom failed to realize exactly what was happening until he was in the middle of it. Harry was hugging him tightly. The press of his body was overwhelming enough to send a shudder down his spine, and his breath against the nape of Tom’s neck was warm and comforting in a way that Tom could not put entirely to words. It was a sensation akin to safely curling up with a book before the fire in the Slytherin common room, or easing one’s self into the Prefect’s bath after a long day.

 

Tom had no idea how to react. He let the sensation wash over him until Harry finally pulled away. Tom could hardly believe his words.

 

“Decent? Brave?” Tom whispered, peering down at Harry, searching his brilliant green eyes as though he might find something telling there. “ _You must be joking._ ” He continued, a bitter smile growing on his face.

 

He waited, as though if given the chance, a realization would dawn on Harry. The man could be smart when he wanted to be, when he chose to look past the face value of what was presented. _The theft of love_ , surely this would strike a note with him. His father’s words were still shrill, ringing in his ears. ‘ _That filthy, evil demon forced me…’_

Tom was breathing hard as his hands began to quiver at his sides. “You have every reason to loath me just as they do, if not more.” Tom reached into the pocket of his cloak and drew out the small heavy velvet bag, filled with a modest amount of wizard gold.  He shoved it into Harry’s hands.

“You should leave now. Without me.” He ordered angrily, “Just give me my wand, you can be free of me. I appreciate your patience all this time, but you don’t need to _lie_ to me anymore.”

 

Because surely, that was what Harry was doing.  After all this time, how could he possibly forget why he had even traveled back here in the first place, all of the people he had lost, all of the memories of bodies which lingered in his worst nightmares. It was Tom. It had all been Tom. And that wasn’t even beginning to touch on the subject of stealing away into Harry’s loving dreams.

 

_…filthy race of hellspawn!_

 

“I’m more of my mother than you know, Harry.” Tom muttered angrily through clenched teeth.

 

Xx

 

Harry’s smile faded so fast that it might as well have not been there at all. He went quiet while Tom spoke, observing him with the sort of calm better associated with Dumbledore (evidently he’d been taught well). Harry knew if he wanted Tom to come out of this relationship – mentorship – a better man, he needed to be a pillar for him, and he’d been a pillar often enough in his life that he considered himself reasonably adept at it.

 

“You’ve seen me lie. I’m terrible at it.” He wrapped a hand around Tom’s wrist before he could withdraw, setting the modest bag of galleons into his palm. His grip was firm, and would be difficult for someone like Tom – who had never been in physical altercations – to break. “I wasn’t lying when I called you brave and your actions decent. I meant it. You extended your father an apology, and it was unpleasant – it was always bound to be – but you still did it. You’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

 

Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but he extended Tom his wand so he wouldn’t feel so helpless, sliding it into Tom’s free hand. He could force Harry to let go, apparate away, but after having Tom leap in front of the barrel of a gun for him, Harry was eager to give him the benefit of the doubt. He wanted Tom to voluntarily remain with him; he didn’t want to have to force him to return some distant day in the future because Tom had backslid in his absence.

 

“Just come and get some soup with me, Tom,” he said insistently, loosening his grip on Tom’s wrist, looking up at him imploringly. What little sunlight was able to break through the mountains lit up the outline of his form, making his features difficult to discern in the glare. “You need time to process what just happened,” he continued. “I guarantee you you’ll feel a lot less miserable in a few hours.”

 

Xx

 

That look could have stopped him dead in his tracks now. Tom didn’t want to admit how much that imploring expression had lingered with him, imprinted in his memory, on the back of his eyelids. It was a look that seemed to hope for something pure, something beautiful that Tom simply couldn’t bring himself to grasp. At that moment, he simply lacked the patience to try.

 

“Goddamnit, Harry!” Tom snapped, turning from quietly shaken to enraged in a heartbeat. He threw the velvet sack on the stone walkway, watching as the glittering gold and silver as it splayed out on the ground, shining in the last few rays of the sun. Tom yanked his wrist from Harry’s grasp and grabbed him by the shoulders, desperately tight. “You’re a terrible liar to everyone except when you’re lying to yourself. You idiot! You fool!” He roared, giving him a small, harsh shake with every foul name.

 

“Tell me, Harry, where is _Ginny_ ?” Tom asked sarcastically, his voice breathlessly mad, anger seeping out where he had kept it so carefully in check before his father and grandparents. Now that it started to crack the edges of his well-formed mask, it was rushing forth. “Where is the pretty girl with the huge hair? And the boy with the freckles? And the twins? And the stout woman with the red hair? _Where are they, Harry? Where are they?_ ” He demanded angrily, his mock sarcasm could have been so hurting, so biting, and in any normal circumstances, it would have been. Tom would have been all smooth words, all graceful flair, all softly spoken threats which dug to the core.

 

As it was, Tom was clinging to Harry, his fingernails digging into his robes as he shook him from time to time as though trying to knock the sense into him. His eyes were wide, enraged and his usually velvety tones were unsteady, quivering and shrill.

 

“I killed them, didn’t I?” Tom gave a mad bark of laughter as if he needed any confirmation. “I was brought into this world in blood, Harry. I murdered my mother before I took my first breath. It’s all I seem to cause. You know, my father called me a demon out of ignorance, but who would have thought he was actually correct? How decent am I now? How brave?” He was laughing harshly now, his eyes humorless, mirthless as he backed away.

 

“I haven’t even gotten to the worst part yet, Harry.” Tom giggled. “Oh, no, no, no. Your memories. Your dreams. I thought you had been lying about waking up with Ginny, about being in love. I thought it was just lust or affection or something, I don’t know. I only intended on trying it _once_.” Tom laughter was became breathless as though the joke kept getting better the more he thought of it. “Harry, it had just been so warm and I…” He quivered, his voice on the edge of breaking. “I couldn’t help myself. I kept…” He was looking away now, down at his hands, his thin elegant fingers. Who would have known he would have done the same thing as his mother: stealing away love, not knowing any better. “I didn’t mean…” He faltered.

 

“Harry, I’m sorry.”

 

Tom couldn’t bring himself to look up. He turned on heel and sped back down the country path, hardly knowing where he was headed.

 

Xx

 

The violent shakes elicited short, hissing breaths, but little else. Harry had been manhandled often enough in his life that it didn’t disorientate him as much as it might have other people. He maintained eye contact with Tom while the boy spoke, his hands on Tom’s forearms, loosely wrapped around the thick fabric of his cloak.

 

He couldn’t deny that Tom’s words hurt; the reminder of what he had lost would have hurt even if Tom wasn’t referencing them so callously. But Harry knew Tom was only expressing his grief and self-loathing in the only way he knew how. He wasn’t going to take it personally. He remembered being fifteen years old, his chest tight and eyes burning, broken trinkets scattered around him while Dumbledore looked on patiently. All that had been left inside of him was a horrible black void, dense and absolute. He had wanted to do to Dumbledore what Tom had done to him; to shake him, to hurt him, to make him feel a tiny piece of the horror inside of himself. That dark void had grown exponentially larger as the years has passed and that withering, shrieking thing inside of him was never quite quelled, and he wondered, now, if Tom had his own dark void, and if he could shine some light on it before it reached a state beyond repair.

 

Tom didn’t get far when he tried to disengage. Harry threw himself in his path before he could take more than a few steps, raising his hands to chest-level in a gentle attempt at a barrier.

 

“It wasn’t stealing! It’s alright! You can’t steal something you already have, Tom! I-” He opened his mouth, and then closed it, hesitating. It’d been a long time since he had said the words ‘I love you’ out loud. “You’re my friend, Tom. You’ve really endeared yourself to me, and I - I love you.”

 

As corny as his words were, they were also full of conviction. Harry did love Tom. He cared about him. He wanted to see him grow into a fine young man, and not just for the benefit of wizard kind; he wanted Tom to be happy.

 

“If you wanted my, um… love, I would have given it to you, you know? You just needed to tell me, and I would have shown it better.” He cleared his throat.

 

“Most importantly, you _aren’t_ Voldemort.” His voice less shrill now that the most awkward part was over and done with. “That isn’t an inevitable outcome, especially now since there’s the whole… but my point is, you never did any of those awful things to me. I thought you deserved to know about all that stuff, but I never meant you to think of yourself as him.”

 

Xx

 

_Tom was Harry’s friend and Harry loved him._

 

He hadn’t expected things to go this way. Truth be told, he had expected Harry to physically assault him after he began to shoot sarcasm in his direction. It had been his last barb, his last ditch attempt to get Harry to finally admit defeat and come out with the truth, or at least the truth as he had imagined it. He had been so certain that Harry hated him. Under all of those supportive gestures must have been the underlying current of loathing that Harry couldn’t deny. Tom had inadvertently forced him here, after all. He had stolen away his memories.

 

But there it was again, that imploring, genuine look that lingered with Tom in a way he couldn’t comprehend. He was sharing his feelings to a level that made him so ridiculous uncomfortable that he had never seemed quite so British.

 

Tom suddenly felt the moment between them had frozen. The sun had finally set and the light that had glimmered on within Harry’s bright eyes faded, turning them into a deep shade of forest green. The skin about his eyebrows creased as it always did when he was feeling put on the spot, or talking about his emotions (unless he had a drink or two first). The chill of the night was settling and yet, Tom didn’t notice the dropping temperature. He forgot about the Riddle manor looming behind them like a tombstone, stark and grim. He forgot about his mother, his father, the gun, the threat, all of the fear and loathing.

 

Before Tom could realize what he was doing, his arms were around Harry. He pulled him into a desperately tight hug, as though clinging to him, trying to be a part of him. His head was bowed, his eyes tightly shut at the intensity of it as he was overwhelmed by the energetic scent of fresh air, the outdoors, well-used leather (probably from the glove on his right hand), and the lingering smell of the lemon dish soap that he used at his job. He held Harry with a crushing tightness that seemed to stave off the inner turmoil that was fighting for dominance. He savored it for an instant, before loosening his grip to withdraw, his breath ghosting against Harry’s cheek as he did so.

 

“Thank you.” He sighed, his voice breaking in relief. “Please don’t leave me.”

 

Tom couldn’t help but break into a small bitter smile at Harry’s last, assured comment. “That’s true, I’m not Voldemort. I can’t _fly from death_. I’m still terrified of it.” His voice trailed and he cast his glance over to the manor, almost as though to gesture to it. “But I’m not Tom Riddle anymore either. They want to take that away. It’s a shame, I think.” He paused for a beat, laughing softly to himself, something far warmer, gentler and tired than the mad laughter of just a few moments ago. Tom hadn’t noticed, but his hands had settled comfortably on Harry’s forearms since the tight embrace. For that matter, he was still standing rather close for any proper Brit to be considered comfortable. He took a polite step back and withdrew contact.

 

“I was really getting used to you calling me by it. Do you think they’ll mind if I steal it for a bit longer?”

 

Xx

 

There was a long silence in which all they did was stare at each other. And then, quite abruptly, Tom had wound his arms around Harry’s torso and pulled him into his chest, his face nestled between Harry’s neck and shoulder. It was such a tight hug that it rivaled those given by Hagrid. Harry’s hands rose on their own accord, resting comfortably between Tom’s shoulder blades, warm against the chilled surface of Tom’s cloak.

 

“’Course I won’t,” he told Tom, his voice full of certainty despite its low volume. It would be incredibly irresponsible for him to ever leave Tom after having forced his way into his life.  

 

As they stood in each other’s arms, Harry slowly became aware of Tom’s breath on his neck and the slight build-up of moisture; of his long fingers curled into the thin material of Harry’s robe; of the thud of Tom’s heartbeat against his ear. It was comforting and disconcerting all at once, and either way, Harry didn’t attempt to break the hug. He continued holding onto Tom until Tom voluntarily parted their bodies, his hands lingering on Harry’s forearms.

 

“They can’t take your name. They can’t even take it symbolically unless you let them.” He followed Tom’s gaze to the manor, now shrouded in shadow. It looked even more intimidating at night. After a moment’s pause, he continued. “I’m not going to stop you if you decide you want to change it, but it’s a nice name. I’d rather you steal it permanently.”

 

Harry stowed his hands in his pockets once Tom had retreated a few feet. He hadn’t noticed how cold it had gotten until now. The wind was starting to pick up.

 

“It’s starting to get dark. D’you want to head back now?” he peered over his shoulder at the graveyard nestled between two steep hills. In the year 1995, little would have changed about it. “I don’t really mind saying if you want to go for a walk or something, though.”

 

Xx

 

It was cold out. Tom shuddered quite suddenly, as though realizing that he was, in fact, standing outside. The dazed silence following the intense embrace was not awkward to Tom for some strange reason. It seemed as if they had prepared beforehand somehow and now their exchange seemed somehow comforting and fluid when everything else in Tom’s mind was chaotic numbness.

 

They had been through so much before this, put up with so much uncertainty, escaped such a variety of odd terrors that silence only seemed as welcome as a well-worn glove, comfortable. Talking with Harry felt comfortable. Everything about him, from the way he made stupid references to comic book characters, to the haphazard way he ‘fixed’ his hair in the morning was _comfortable_. He made it seem so natural, easy.  It was nothing like the pre-composed smiles and the fawning comments made by his schoolmates in order to get his attention, or the beautifully made up faces of the young girls (or even older women) who approached him. Nothing contrite, nothing manipulative, nothing hidden.

 

Tom needed to know that someone genuinely loved him, despite all of his terrible thieving habits, or his disregard for mental boundaries, or his tendency to make rather dark jokes (and, God-forbid, puns) or even his sickening heritage.  He needed someone who was able to laugh with him, and not at him, (even when he got clocked in the back of the head with a random wand box, or when he tripped over furniture while drunk).

 

Tom felt the shadow of the Riddle Manor looming above them and was suddenly hit with exactly _how little it all mattered._ Yes, he was in a great deal of pain, and yes, there was a note of shrill anger within his father’s voice that lingered in the back of Tom’s mind like a foul smell, but it changed absolutely nothing, didn’t it? They could continue on as they were. Tom could continue on as he had been…or could he?

 

 _‘Just like your entire filthy race of hellspawn!’_ Rang out in the back of Tom’s mind.

 

_Entire filthy race._

_Filthy race._

 

Tom cleared his throat, as though making sure that the emotions of the past half hour or so hadn’t completely shot his voice. “I need to-” He started, his words catching on one another. What the hell did he need to do? How could escape this? His eyes followed Harry’s gaze, finding the old graveyard standing off in the distance. A sudden chill gripped him that had nothing to do with the darkness that had settled around them.

 

“Just, one more thing.” Exhaustion was clear in his tone now as he took Harry by the hand and tugged him towards the stone path as it led directly into the old graveyard.

 

Xx

 

There were few places Harry wanted to go less than the Little Hangleton Graveyard. Though this was a different time with different people, he still looked upon the place with guilt and apprehension, like he was fourteen years old again and being confronted with Cedric’s lax body and vacant stare. He could almost feel the tip of Voldemort’s finger on his cheek as they approached the gate, his high, cold laughter echoing in Harry’s ear. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again, surprised to find them standing among the tombstones; when had they entered?

 

Harry knew his palms were sweating, so he slid his hand out of Tom’s and wrapped it around his shoulders instead (or a little lower, rather, because Harry wasn’t tall enough to properly wrap his arm around Tom’s shoulders). Harry’s palms were still damp and his gut was convulsing, but he managed to keep his agitation in check enough to smile up at Tom.

 

Everything that had happened in this graveyard had never happened and would never happen. He had made sure of that by inserting himself into Tom’s life. He needed to calm down. Stop being silly.

 

“So, did you want to look for your family?” he asked, surveying the surrounding graves. He knew where the Riddle’s would be buried eventually and the thought made his mouth feel a little dry. “I don’t remember seeing any other Riddle graves last time I was here. The Riddle’s might not have been in Little Hangleton long enough for there to be any history.”

 

He paused, and then something occurred to him.

“Unless you’re looking for the Gaunt’s? I’m- I’m not sure any of them are buried here, either.”

He wished he could be more helpful, but he knew far more about Tom personally than any of Tom’s immediate or extended family; any information he did have Tom was probably already aware of.

 

Xx

 

Tom was standing in the middle of a sea of headstones. He had doggedly powered forward, his face an expressionless, pale mask. Harry was kind enough not to point out when Tom tripped over the more overgrown graves, or when the grip of Tom’s hand tightened whenever he approached a site that was marked with a surname beginning with ‘R’. He huffed in frustration as he zoned in on ‘ _Randolph_ ’ for the third time by accident. His breath was thin and shallow as he stumbled on, tugging Harry with him.

 

When Tom finally stopped to collect himself, he realized that he had dragged them quite far from the main road now, that his aimless search had brought him in the center of this silent stony landscape. The weeds had grown wild, grass tall and swaying in the breeze. The soft, gentle sounds nocturnal animals gradually reached his ears, but nothing seemed to interrupt his thoughts.

 

_Filthy race. Filthy race. Filthy race of hellspawn._

 

He felt Harry’s arm wrap around his upper back, perhaps in an attempt to get to his shoulders. He heard Harry’s smile, felt the warmth, the draw of it without even needing to look down at him. Tom couldn’t lock eyes with him. He knew exactly why as well, and now Harry needed to know, he deserved it more than anything.

 

Tom didn’t have the courage to look up as he spoke.

 

“I called them that.” Tom cringed, realizing how unclear he was being. _Fool_ . “Mud-…Muggleborns. Halfbloods. I called them _Hellspawn_ , and _filth_ , and so much worse. I can’t even recall now.” Something brought the pretty girl with the bushy hair from Harry’s memory to mind, like a ghost of a moment that was never his to begin with. A moment he had stolen. He greedily gulped down air as something clenched at his stomach painfully and made him want to groan. He clenched his teeth instead and continued staring away.

 

“I wouldn’t have felt guilty for killing him, you know. If you hadn’t stopped me all those weeks ago. I wouldn’t have felt anything. _I never feel_.” He admitted in what he thought would be a cold, powerful voice. To his dismay, his voice sounded weak, tight and childish. He gulped willing himself to be more in control and failing miserably. “You’re different, you know. I can’t get away with not feeling anymore. It hurts-” Almost as if on cue, his stomach gave a particularly painful twist. His mouth snapped shut and he shook his head stiffly.

 

 _Look at him. For the love of God, just look up at him._ But Tom couldn’t bring himself to meet those green eyes and see the disappointment, the rage he knew was waiting. “All I have is my power, Harry. I don’t even know who I am anymore. _What the hell am I even doing out here? Looking for dead family members that aren’t even related to me?”_ He shook his head angrily again, as though warding away idiotic thoughts.

 

Tom wished he could take it back, that he could replace all of that with pretty words, with suggestions that they just return to the warmth of their room and a nice bowl of soup, that they drink away the memory of tonight and simply move on. He couldn’t fool Harry though. Oblivious, idiotic, warm, genuine, accepting Harry. He simply couldn’t leave him in the dark.

 

Xx

 

Harry let Tom air his troubles without interruption. He had become an exemplary listener over the years, if only because he was often too awkward to think of anything to say. His encouragement was restricted to physical contact; he resumed holding Tom’s hand, thumb trailing over the white of a knuckle in a vague effort to comfort him. The veins on the back of Tom’s hand were protruding. He was all worked up.

 

When Tom finished speaking, silence descended. The wind blew, wilted flowers floated away from their respective grave site. He watched a flurry of rose petals rise into the air and settle on a grave marked with a faded ‘Rest in Peace, Jake Dowe’.

Eventually, Harry felt he had to break the silence.

 

“Look, I’m – I’m not that great at discussing this sort of stuff, so I don’t know if anything I say is the right thing. Everything I’ve said so far might have seemed like a load of bollocks to you, I don’t know.” A pause. He glanced at Tom, waiting until he was sure the boy had nothing to add before pressing on. “But you’re already well on your way to making something of yourself. You don’t need _them_ to be someone. You already have your intelligence and magical prowess and I think just about every lady who sets eyes on you envisions you asking for their hand in marriage.”

 

He offered Tom what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but it was probably awkward. “Besides, you’ve got me now, right? I already go around calling myself your cousin or uncle, so I might as well be considered part of your family.”  

 

Night had well and truly arrived. If not for the light of the moon, nothing would have been visible. Harry withdrew his wand and lit up the end, squinting around at his surroundings; the tombstones seemed taller and more ominous than they had moments prior, the gnarled vines encircling them further emphasizing the eerie atmosphere that encased the graveyard. Harry’s heart was beating just that little bit faster. Unconsciously, he sidled in closer to Tom, their sides brushing.

 

“I know things are pretty damn miserable right now, but you’re happier, aren’t you? Even with all of this going on?” Harry looked up at him. Tom’s eyes were so dark that they were barely visible. “Because if you never felt anything, you couldn’t really have been happy. Maybe you were just going through the motions.”

 

He wetted his lips.

 

“Does that make sense, or am I way off?”

 

Xx

 

Tom was staring pointedly away at the ground, or more specifically, a point on the ground. It was a tombstone that read “Gerald Thomelson, Remarkable Father, Loving Husband and Trusted Friend”. The grass and overgrowth hugged at the old stone hungrily, almost lovingly. Tom, of course, had no idea what the aged script said; he couldn’t see it. His vision was swimming and he had no idea why. In truth, he didn’t want to think about why. He didn’t want to think about how the world seemed to be falling apart around him, how all of his carefully constructed ideas about how power, loyalty, blood, family worked were shattering before his eyes. He didn’t want to think of how his companions at school would tear him apart if only they knew, or of how his stomach was twisting in knots at the idea that he had used those same exact words as his father and had done _so much worse_.

 

Harry’s voice sounded, and his mind latched on to it, greedy to have a distraction, longing for something to occupy him aside from his insides twisting and his face growing unreasonably hot. All that seemed to exist there in that graveyard was the crisp breeze against the overgrown grass, the sprinkling of stars that shined down from above him, and the sound of Harry’s voice. Harry seemed to think that all of these things mattered in some way, that his popularity would be a comfort, that his skills in magic could fix this writhing knot that seemed to be consuming his mid-section, that the women who wanted to romance him would be a testament to him in some way. Tom would have laughed, but he was far too distracted.

 

It was the sound of Harry’s voice which washed over him, that calmed the sirens blaring in the back of his mind. His halting, nervous tone, as he stumbled over his words and thoughts. Nothing contrived, nothing manipulative, nothing pre-planned. It was entirely, overwhelmingly, almost uncomfortably _Harry_.

 

When he mentioned practically being family at this point, Tom’s grip tightened instinctively. “You would do that? You won’t leave me?” Tom had no idea what being ‘family’ even meant, to a certain extent, but it resonated somehow, it felt meaningful and true and right and everything he was unfamiliar with.

 

It took a beat before Tom realized that he had _felt_ anything at all. As though awakening from a dream, he shuddered and took a deep breath of the cool night air and rubbed his face with his free hand. His hand was wet. Must have been condensation. This summer night was rather chill, after all.

 

He turned to find Harry standing close enough to be brushing up to his side. He was smiling awkwardly in that way that he did when he was forced to speak his mind, yet Tom found that oddly reassuring. He was remarkably warm, as he always seemed to be. It took a moment before Tom realized how overly theatrical this all had been. The dramatic confrontation with his father, his breakdown, dragging Harry off to the graveyard (when he clearly wanted to have none of that place at all).  Before he knew it, Tom smiled back at him a bit sheepishly. “I’ve made a right mess of things.”

 

And yet he really hadn’t. Harry was right. None of this mattered. None at all. Tom was worth more than a belligerent father and a gun held in his face. And besides, Tom already had a family. He was standing right next to him.

 

"Thanks for your patience, Harry.” Tom broke the silence finally, relieved to hear that his voice was smooth and calm once again. “Let’s go home and _never_ come back here. It’s a God-awful place and I could do without any more drama. Besides, I’m absolutely starving." Tom’s fingers curled possessively around Harry’s hand and with a crack like a whip, they both disappeared.

 

Silence fell. The night settled into its normal dull hum of nocturnal insects as the breeze gently swayed the tall blades of grass against the mossy tombstones of the graveyard. Off in the distance, there was a flash of light in the upper floors of the Riddle Manor as a gunshot sounded.


	7. The Train Station

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, I got so much incredible feedback on the last chapter! I'm so speechless about it! Thank you much for all of your love and support! I love posting this story up for you and I can't wait to begin writing new stuff on it. I've got some really fun stuff planned out.
> 
> As always, please, please, PLEASE comment below. I love reading your comments and feedback. Your beautiful words really do keep me going. I would LOVE to hear what songs you associate with this story or this pairing too. I'm a huge fan of creating playlists for writing inspiration, and I'd love to add in your suggestions. As always, I love hearing your reactions to the events in the story. Thank you again for your time and attention. This chapter is pretty short, so I'll probably be posting up the next one pretty soon. 
> 
> Just as a reminder, this is a compilation of a roleplay between myself (https://riddlemostpowerful.tumblr.com/) and HeroComplexing (http://herocomplexing.tumblr.com/). I played Tom, while my companion played Harry. Their writing is incredible, and I would highly recommend that you follow them.
> 
> My sweet, adorable buddy Grace Lee (https://darklorddiscourse.tumblr.com/) collected most of the posts together for me, so I owe her a huge thanks. She's an incredible writer as well.

The train station was, as Mrs Weasley had once put it, ‘packed with muggles’. Many of them were casting curious glances at Tom’s luggage, among which was a glass cage (unbreakable, of course, and perpetually warm) with Basil the corn snake sitting inside, its tiny head swiveling around to take in the sights. It was a curious little thing. Unreasonably curious for a snake. Harry hoped it wouldn’t try to escape while Tom was at class.

 

“Right, okay…” Harry examined the contents of Tom’s cart. “I don’t think we could have possibly forgotten anything, but… mm… no, I think you have everything you need. And if you discover that you don’t, just send me an owl and I’ll get it for you.”

 

He folded his arms over his chest, feeling a little jittery. Soon he’d be alone for the first time in months. He wasn’t looking forward to it. He’d gotten so used to seeing Tom’s face every morning that it would be odd to wake up to an empty room. Of course, he wouldn’t be spending his time lying around feeling sorry for himself while Tom was at school; he needed to get another job, a better one, and arrange permanent lodgings.

 

“Let’s go,” he said, leading the way through the barrier. 

 

As closely as the surrounding muggles watched them, not one of them seemed to notice them disappear into the stone pillar. 

 

Xx

 

Tom watched as Harry glanced nervously from Tom to his cart and then back, trying to recall if they had left anything back at their cozy room back at the Three Broomsticks. Even though his cart was rather sparse compared to the other Slytherins, he had more possessions this year than he could ever remember having before. The three most important ones were in the forefront of his mind though.

 

The first was his wand, which was safely stowed in his jacket pocket. Feeling it bump against his side reminded him of the sensation of warm, assured power that had coursed up his arm when he had finally found it. The second was Basil, his loyal, adorable, trusted and yet overwhelmingly useless companion. Basil was a curious little chap who rarely ever stopped talking. Basil’s bronze and orange scales flashed as his dark eyes peeked out of his unbreakable glass cage, casting curious glances at all of the people around and giving a running commentary to Tom about which ones seemed the most likely to step on him and where were the best places for Tom to find food. 

 

The last object was a rather mundane shirt. His face was impassive and bored as he recalled how he had snitched it from Harry’s things when Harry had been hard at work in the restaurant. Tom knew he would be heading off to school soon enough and aside from his usual undeniable feeling of excitement in starting a new year, a ghost of panic gripped at him. Harry would not be joining him there. Harry would be left behind.

 

It had been then and there that Tom had snatched the up the shirt from Harry’s things. It smelled faintly of lemon soap and the outdoors. It felt worn, yet soft when he ran his fingers carefully along the fabric of the collar. It was currently hidden at the bottom of his trunk, right where it belonged. Tom didn’t know why he wanted it so badly, yet he did. It didn’t fit him. It didn’t suit him, yet he  _ needed _ it.

 

Tom followed briskly along after Harry through the stone pillar. Smoke poured from the Hogwarts Express and filled the platform which was already bustling with activity of an entirely different variety. Young witches and wizards scurried about, greeting old friends as they tried to organize their possessions and bid their parents farewell.

 

Tom gave Harry a reassuring smile to try to ease the other man’s obvious nerves. There it was again, that apprehension from before. “Don’t worry! It’s not like I’m leaving civilization. You know as much as I do that I’ll be provided for at Hogwarts.” He turned to face Harry, looking at him slyly. “You’ll be finally rid of me and you can be a proper bachelor,  _ hm _ ?” 

 

Xx

 

The sight of the Hogwarts Express rendered Harry breathless. The last time he’d seen the train, he had been sixteen years old, and he’d felt so old – far older than he ought to have felt, but he knew now that he had been incredibly young. Just a boy struggling under the weight of expectation. The expectation to be the hero, to kill Voldemort, to win the war; the expectation that he be willing to give up everything for everyone else.

 

And that was exactly what he had done in the end. He’d given up everything he’d ever cared about so everyone else would be able to live a better quality of life. 

 

_ “-You’ll be finally rid of me and you can be a proper bachelor, hm?” _

 

At the sound of Tom’s voice, air squirmed its way back into Harry’s lungs. He turned a grin on Tom, laughing.

 

He had certainly given up a lot, but he couldn’t say his sacrifices were without compensation.

 

“I’m not really ‘bachelor’ material, Tom,” he told him, shaking his head. He’d probably be too busy missing Tom to dedicate an appropriate amount of attention to maintaining a romantic relationship, anyway. “What’m I gonna say when my background comes up? ‘Yeah, I’m a time traveler, but not the kind that can travel more than once so you’ll just have to take my word for it’. I’m sure that’d go down well.”

 

Casting a glance to the clock above their heads, Harry quickly began to unload Tom’s cart. First heaving the trunk up the steps, and then setting Basil on top. The trunk was awful light, and it made Harry feel as though he should have purchased some more things for Tom to bring. Some more books and robes, maybe.

 

With ten minutes left until departure, there wasn’t anything he could do right now. He’d just have to send Tom gifts while he was at school.

 

“Now…” He turned his attention back to Tom. “Have a good time at school. Try not to spend all your time studying for exams. You’re brilliant, anyway, so you hardly need it.” He lifted his hands. They hovered in the air a moment, hesitating, because wouldn’t hugging Tom in public be embarrassing for him? But then he stepped forward and hugged Tom anyway, because he was  _ not _ leaving without one, Tom’s reputation be damned.

 

“Try not to have  _ too _ much fun without me,” he mumbled into Tom’s chest, patting between his shoulder blades.

 

Xx

 

This was magic at it’s finest. It didn’t just settle in the air, hiding and demure as if woven into the very fabric of space, as it did at Ollivander’s. It didn’t simply perform perfunctory tasks as it always did for them each and every day. Magic here roared and exploded with energy. It put on a show, it sparkled with excitement. It danced and played. Tom could feel the thrill of it deep in his bones. Hogwarts was ahead, the Express awaited him and he had an entire new year to learn new things about his beloved craft. One would think that after six years of having done this, Tom would have gotten tired of it, but it never became banal. It was never old and hackneyed. The sort of magic which the Hogwarts Express had never seemed out of date, and Tom always reveled in it.

 

Tom couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Women were not going to be hanging all over him for his ‘backstory’. Frankly, time-travel was not that terrible of an excuse as far as ridiculously fake backstories went. “You could always say that you’re on the run from the law and that you have a dark and brooding past. Of course, that would be correct to an extent. I don’t think any of your perspectives will care though, with your dashing good looks.” Tom trailed, then watched as Harry hefted his rather large trunk up the stairs. 

 

Damned if the man wasn’t unexpectedly quite strong. That was the heaviest his school trunk had ever been, loaded as it was with all of his possessions since he began his academic adventure. Harry lifted it (no magic required) without a problem. Tom looked at him in dumbfounded amazement. “You know, I would have helped with that…” He huffed, stepping forward quickly to brush the dirt and dust from Harry’s robe.

 

He nodded as Harry spoke. “Yes, yes,  _ I know I’m brilliant _ . Frankly, if you had any sense, you would be warning me to study even more. It’s my extra-curricular activities you should be worried over.” Tom laughed, his eyes glittering mischievously. “But, for your sake, I’ll keep things rather tame. This is N.E.W.T. year, after all.” Harry lifted his hands as though to make an exasperated gesture, or to shrug. Tom’s confusion was plain on his face. Did Harry want him to just…go…? What was he-?

 

Tom suddenly felt a sudden wave of warmth and a gripping tightness around his chest as Harry stepped forward and embraced him. He was overcome with the fresh, comfortingly earthen smell akin to being outdoors along with a hint of lime scented soap (they must have changed the brand they used in the kitchens Harry worked in). Tom swayed dangerously, having been caught off guard, but he caught himself. With a slight delay, he registered that Harry was actually speaking to him and it took a moment longer until Tom finally reacted. 

 

Tom’s arms worked instinctively, wrapping around Harry and hugging him tightly. “After this last summer, I’m not certain I can handle much more excitement. Then again, I think we’re both prone to being pulled into rather grand schemes.” Tom laughed, ruffling Harry’s already messy hair. He immediately proceeded to try to fix it again, to no avail. With an exasperated sigh, he gave up…for now.


	8. Exchanging Missives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOODNESS, I'm so happy to see that you are enjoying this little story of mine. Thank you SO MUCH for your love and support. The comments that you leave on this story seriously keep me going. Please, pleASE, PLEASE comment and leave kudos. It warms my heart so much to see your kind words as well as your wisdom and hopes for the future. All of you are incredible. I do not deserve such wonderful readers, and I'm so lucky to have all of you along for the ride. :)
> 
> Please post up what interests you most in this chapter and what you hope to see in the future for this fic. I would love to hear your feedback. :D
> 
> Gotta say this again, because my buddies deserve lots of love. This is a compilation of a roleplay between myself (https://riddlemostpowerful.tumblr.com/) and HeroComplexing (http://herocomplexing.tumblr.com/). I played Tom, while my companion played Harry. Their writing is incredible, and I would highly recommend that you follow them.
> 
> My sweet, adorable buddy Grace Lee (https://darklorddiscourse.tumblr.com/) collected most of the posts together for me, so I owe her a huge thanks. She's an incredible writer as well.

The library was virtually empty at this hour of the night. With his station as Head Boy, it made him rather hard to pin down for ‘breaking any rules’, when most of the time he had been the one enforcing them (as flimsy as that title was, it was rather fun to use the power when he could). Tom had easily convinced his usually crowd of followers that he needed his usual time to study, that they must leave him be. He insisted he needed privacy as he read, and he was not precisely lying in saying so, but not entirely telling the truth. The fact of the matter was that after a week or so of settling back in at home in Hogwarts, he found himself thinking fondly of his room back in Hogsmeade, and the counterpart he had shared that room with.

 

Tom’s quill was poised above a crisp piece of parchment. He hardly had to think before his words began to pour out on to the page.

 

“Dear Harry,

 

The colors of the trees in the forbidden forest are really beginning to change now to brilliant oranges and deep scarlet. I feel I don’t have the poet’s mind to appreciate them, but I think you certainly would. I was never one for poetry, but there’s something about this symbolism that seems refreshing.

 

Basil has not stopped telling me that I need to eat more since we arrived. He keeps insisting that my ‘unnatural growth of extra limbs’ is caused by my unwillingness to eat mice with him. To this day, I have no idea why I have so much more patience for snakes than I do humans. If Abraxas even tried to insist anything to me, I would be more liable to punch him in his beautiful face.

 

My Knights are wondering where I’ve darted off to, and why I need so much time to myself recently. They’ve also been wondering why I’ve had them focus so keenly on their studies this year, rather than our usual ‘recreational activities’. Truth be told, aside from the recent turn of events this summer, I still need them to get as many NEWTs as possible. This is our last chance to explore the castle to the fullest and make use of the tremendous magic contained here. As it turns out, they’re a smarter lot than I had first thought them to be.

 

Travers (my classmate) has insisted that I attend at least one Quidditch game this season. She insists that if I attend, the Slytherins will win. I don’t know if she thinks that I’m some sort of good luck charm, but either way I thought I could keep track of the scores for you. It’s a rather violent game. And when it isn’t violent, it’s downright boring. Gryffindor beat Hufflepuff. The poor lambs never stood a chance, I’m afraid. Why did my knights force me to watch a game that didn’t even involve our house? The world may never know. I suspect it may be because their aforementioned violent streak.

 

It’s so strange. There are times when I hardly believe what happened over the course of this summer, times when I wake up thinking that it must have been some sort of incredible, terrifying, surreal dream that ends with me in the midst of an air raid attack, staring down the barrel of a gun. Then I remember sharing a drink with you after a long day, or talking about our thoughts on magical theory. It’s strange that I should find my captor endearing. Even stranger that I’ve grown fond of the mark you’ve left on my arm.

 

I wouldn’t worry yourself though. I’ll be back in full form soon. I’ve been studying hard enough for the both of us.  _ You’ll thank me later, Harry. _

 

Also, Cosáin gives her regards. She’s anxious to meet you.

 

I’m hoping you’re well and that you haven’t put yourself into some ridiculously dangerous situation. Remember, think before you act.

 

Take care of yourself,

 

Tom”

 

He took a moment to admire the script, his neat handiwork. He reread the words, laughing softly to himself. Before folding up the crisp parchment, he tapped the surface with his new wand, muttering an incantation under his breath. The words faded, ink swimming on the page until it formed itself into a single sentence.

 

_ Where did we first meet? _

 

He folded his letter, sealing it with wax and marking it with the Slytherin insignia from the ring he had ‘borrowed’ from Dolohov, before taking it over to the owlery.

 

Xx

 

Upon receiving the letter, the first thing Harry wrote in an attempt to lift the enchantment was ‘your father’s house’. This didn’t work. The parchment chastised him with a ‘be more specific’ and Harry tried again, carefully writing ‘Little Hangleton’ in capital letters.

 

After a moments pause, the contents of the letter unveiled itself. It was longer than he’d expected - longer than some of the  _ essays  _ he’d written in school. 

 

He still read it over a total of four times before starting his response.

 

“Dear Tom,

 

Thanks for your letter. It’s probably the longest one I’ve ever received. I really appreciate all the little details. Almost makes me feel like I’m there with you.

 

I was never one for poetry either, honestly, but I guess you don’t need to be a poet to have a poet’s mind. Not that I think I have a poet’s mind. That would be a bit conceited, wouldn’t it? I think I’ve just learned to appreciate the little things about life.

 

Glad to hear Basil’s taking an interest in your diet. It means he cares about you. He’ll probably try to convince you to eat his skin the next time he sheds, since apparently that’s a thing snakes do.

 

Not sure I like the idea of your knights being more competent, but I hope this focus on study will guide them away from a lifetime of intolerance towards muggles and muggleborns. I  _ might  _ be hoping too much there. Guess we’ll have to wait and see since I can’t fast forward to see what becomes of them (makes me wish I’d researched ways to make time more malleable for me).

 

You don’t go to any of your houses Quidditch games? Really? I attended every single one I could when I was in school. I don’t know if I ever mentioned it, but I was the seeker on my team. I became captain later as well. 

 

My friend Hermione didn’t much care about Quidditch either. She never really liked flying, but she enjoyed watching me and Ron play. Maybe you’d like watching me do some Seeker tricks some time? It’d be an excuse to get me back on a broom. I can’t remember the last time I flew.

 

I don’t really know how I feel about you having nightmares about me, or at least stuff that happened because of me. It’s strange for me to think this friendship didn’t start organically.

 

I don’t really know what the right thing to do in this situation is either. Once you’re out of school, I’ll have to-”

 

As he considered what to write next, a droplet of ink soaked in the parchment. It looked like a very large period.

 

“Sorry, dropped some ink.

 

Once you’re out of school, I’ll let you decide whether or not we remain together. I don’t want to take your future away from you. I’d like to be able to check up on you on occasion, but you deserve your autonomy. 

 

Don’t worry, Tom. I’m fine. All I’ve been doing is working and looking around for new accommodation. There’s a few nice places in London that I might be able to afford. Most of them already have fireplaces connected to the floo network. We could floo to work every morning. If you decide to continue living with me, that is. 

 

Oh, and I’m guessing Cosáin is the Basilisk? I think I could do without meeting them. 

 

Don’t tell her I wrote that, though.

 

You take care as well,

 

Harry.”

 

A tap with the tip of his wand, and the words on the parchment condensed into the single line.

 

_ What was the first meal I ever made for you? _

 

Xx

 

Tom had decided that the Astronomy Tower would offer the most privacy. His time in the library had become something slightly suspicious to the library’s caretaker, and his coming and going would be noticed by students of all four houses. The last thing he needed was rumors and he knew that they were already beginning.

 

When the owl with the letter fluttered to his table one early morning a few days later, he had taken the parchment casually in hand and stowed it away in his bag as though he were trying to put this aside and get back to his toast. 

 

“Were you expecting mail, Tom?” Avery was quick to pick up on the new event.

 

“I don’t tell you all of my secrets.” He answered with a winsome smile. Avery was quick to look away to cover his worried blush, as he always did. And that had been the end of it. No others questioned Tom’s letter, but he was well aware of the fact that the young lord Black was watching him carefully all the while.

 

Tom smiled as he put quill to parchment, recognizing the question instantly. “Something incredibly heavy. I hardly had a bite of it.” He responded. ’ _ Take it seriously, Tom. _ ’ nagged Harry’s response in return.

 

“Beef Stew.” 

 

Harry’s jagged handwriting filled the page. As it unfolded before his eyes, Tom realized exactly how eager he had been to get a response. How long had it taken for him to respond and there wasn’t nearly enough here! Tom groaned. He had waited for a whole week…or no, maybe five days…alright, three days. He had waited three days for so few details!

 

“Harry,

 

Your handwriting is atrocious. When I get back, we really need to work on your penmanship.”

 

He took a moment to rather petulantly underline the word ‘really’. As unnecessary as the action was, it still felt rather good.

 

“Despite that fact though, I’m quite elated to receive your letter. I need to keep tabs on you, you understand? You’re prone to getting into trouble and without me there to keep watch, there’s no telling what may occur. 

 

I wouldn’t worry about my dreams of you, Harry. It’s stress. Nothing more. Think nothing of it.

 

Either way, the fact that you’ve been looking into extra accommodations is surprising! I would have thought that perhaps you would have wanted to move in with the pretty new girlfriend that you’ve undoubtedly met since my departure. I suppose she’s taken up residence in my section of our old room? I do hope she’s been keeping things neat.”

 

Tom stopped and chuckled to himself, picturing Harry’s incredulous expression while reading this. He had scoffed at the fact that Tom had called him good looking before, and every reminder seemed to cause even more fervent disbelief. 

 

“School has been the same as it ever was. Simple. Aside from Professor Dumbledore’s class, which is torture. (Mind you, it’s not that I have trouble with the subject, it’s just that Dumbledore himself detests me.) The Knights are excelling with my help from time to time. As it turns out, when you’re not planning 'outings’ every single night, you have time to tutor those around you.

 

While Quidditch itself might be dreadful, I would consider watching willingly if you were to play. I’m certain you’d look quite graceful.

 

Yes, Cosain is my newest friend. I’m hoping she doesn’t have any inclinations to make me consume her shed skin like Basil might. Breakfast of champions, I’m certain. (That was sarcasm, just in case that didn’t translate over written word.) She was so pleased by your scent and has taken to calling you ‘Princess’, she’ll be so distraught to know you don’t return the feeling. Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider? She’s quite the charmer and she apparently thinks that you’re royalty.

 

Also, I keep forgetting that you know almost everything about me. I suppose I’ll just have to work harder to surprise you. I think my newest studies just might, and you’ll be pleased to know that this is something that will certainly benefit you as well.”

 

Tom paused, smiling to himself yet again. His ambitions for horcruxes may be all but forgotten, but his obsession with immortality certainly wasn’t. His scope had simply grown broader.

 

“I’ve drawn a card for you this morning. Seven of Swords. Is someone stealing you away, Harry? 

 

Watch out for yourself, will you?

 

Tom”

 

Tom admired his scripted handiwork, taking a beat of a moment in the crisp night air on the tower to re-read Harry’s letter yet again and make sure he responded to every tiny bit of it that he needed to. He tapped the wand to the surface of the page, causing the words to swirl out of sight yet again.

 

“How did my wand find me?”

 

Tom wouldn’t admit to how excited he was to send the missive away, but he went immediately to find an owl to carry the message off. The sooner the better.

 

Xx

 

“By destroying Ollivander’s shop,” Harry murmured upon reading Tom’s question, grinning to himself. That wasn’t what he wrote in, however. Given Tom’s displeasure with the incident, it wasn’t likely to be the answer the parchment needed. 

He instead picked up his quill and wrote, “After your eighteenth attempt, Ollivander picked your wand off the ground and pushed it into your hand.” 

The moment he’d finished writing, the letters slowly bled outward and blossomed into another lengthy letter.

 

“Dear Tom,

 

My handwriting is legible and that’s what’s important. You’re not going to get me learning cursive anytime soon.”

 

Following Tom’s example, he underlined the word ‘that’, and then added a second line for emphasis.

 

“You really don’t need to worry about me. My life is more boring and uneventful right now than it has ever been. All I do is work, shop, and look around for new accommodation; no going out and playing the hero or getting stalked by Lord Black. I promise you, Tom, I’m not doing anything at all that could put me in danger. I haven’t even gone to Diagon Alley since you left.

 

The way you talk about me and girls makes me think you  _ want _ me to get a girlfriend. If you’re worried about me being lonely, you shouldn’t be. I’m fine on my own. I mean, I do miss having company; I miss your company in particular, but I’m not so lonely that I’d bring home a girl within two weeks of you leaving.

 

Besides, I’m a waiter. Not exactly a catch. Which I’m fine with, by the way, because I had girls interested in me while I was at school and it was more awkward than anything else.

 

You really ought to give Professor Dumbledore more credit. He doesn’t hate you, Tom – he just knows you better than anyone else in the school. He’s taken an actual, genuine interest in who you are as a person and not the person you pretend to be, which is more than you can say for any of your other teachers, right? Maybe you should talk to him some time. You know, tell him that you’re a changed man or something. It’s never a bad thing to have Albus Dumbledore on your side.

 

I bet you’d make a great Professor. Maybe you could apply for a position after you’ve graduated? But you’d need to get on Dumbledore’s good side first. You won’t be able to secure a job otherwise.”

 

He wasn’t going to explain why that was essential. He was sure Tom could figure it out for himself.

 

“As for showing you some Quidditch moves, I’ll have to buy myself a broom. I suppose any will do, though I’ve gotten pretty used to riding some of the more expensive ones.

 

Wait, why am  _ I _ being called princess? I’m flattered-“ A lie, of course. “But you’re better suited to that role than me. Descendant of Salazar Slytherin and collector of grand jewelry and all. I’m descended from people who made pots for a living, hence the name ‘Potter’.

 

What does she call you?

 

I’m not that fond of surprises, to be honest. Not unless they’re birthday surprises or surprise visits. Try not to surprise me too much.

 

And I never paid attention in Divination. Does the Seven of Swords mean someone’s going to try to kill me? Maim me? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a prediction like that. They generally don’t come true. Even the prophecy made about us didn’t come true, so don’t let it worry you. Just focus on your studies and your friends.

 

Looking forward to your next letter,

Harry.”

 

He tapped the parchment with his wand and watched as the words ‘what do I work as?’ formed. The owl Tom had sent shuffled across his kitchen windowsill impatiently, eager to be sent off with Harry’s response. He smiled at the bird as he slid the parchment into an envelope and sealed it with a dollop of candle wax. Before he’d even begun to approach, it had its leg raised in preparation to receive the letter.

 

“Want to get back to your warm, comfortable nest, huh?” Harry gave it a quick scratch under the neck before he attached the letter. The Owl hooted appreciatively and set off into the chilly night.

 

Xx

 

Tom was having issues finding a box large enough to fit the broomstick. The Nimbus was bulky, to say the least, but after about fifteen minutes of cursing in undertones and shoving the broomstick into the container before he could finally magically seal the box. Finally, covered in sweat and with a few stray twigs sticking out of his usually impeccably styled hair, he sighed and pulled his response letter from the pockets of his robes.

 

The night he had received the response from Harry, he had instantly dashed off to the read and reply. He carefully scanned over his scripted text, checking for errors as he always did. To appear anything less than perfect was unacceptable. Then again, Harry had seen him at his absolute worst at this point, so did it really matter quite so much? He had to admit, his handwriting looked a touch sloppy this time. He had been a touch too eager, perhaps? Nonsense, he was just feeling rushed to move on to his schoolwork. He hadn’t been looking for the letter, not in the slightest.

 

“Harry,

 

You’re welcome. This thing was sitting and collecting dust. I don’t even know if it’s a ‘high quality’ broomstick, they all look as dreadfully boring as the game itself. Perhaps we can spice things up with a race of our own? I could use a bit of flying practice.”

 

Tom chuckled to himself. His flying abilities had gotten quite a bit better since he had given himself time to practice outside of his usual schoolwork. He couldn’t wait to see dumbfounded Harry’s face when he managed to hover and float without a broom.

 

“Either way, I’m not talking to Dumbledore. I don’t care how many heavy-handed hints you drop about his importance or how much you insist he doesn’t dislike me. You haven’t seen the hateful way he looks at me. Every single chance he gets, he’s looming over me, watching me like a hawk. He treats me like a ticking time-bomb, Harry. Every question implies suspicion, every statement seems accusatory, every glance seems frigid. He doesn’t just read my mind, he pries into it whenever my defenses are low. I’ve tried to return the favor, but he’s far too skilled to be caught in such a trap. It’s not just aggravating, it’s jarring and repulsive.

 

He think he was on to my plans concerning my father. I don’t believe he knows I’ve met you yet. I should like to keep it that way. If he finds out, there’s no telling how he might track you down as well. We have enough to worry about with that damned Lord Black and his merry band of jackasses.

 

I feel the need to remind you that I am not a reference for Tarot cards. Have you given some thought to studying for once, Harry? Either way, Divination is extremely useful in keeping tabs on your own mental development, as well as the uncontrollable forces around you. You’d be surprised how uncanny these predictions can be at times and their significance to your future development. 

 

I’ll be magnanimous and let you know a bit more about the Seven of Swords as long as you promise to take the meaning to heart. Yet again, you’re welcome.

 

Being a part of the Swords suit, there is constantly action and motion that is happening around these cards. Seven, in particular, tends to be a lucky and ambitious number but in this context, there is action going on around you that may lead to danger or betrayal. This is the card of thieves and deception. So, as I said before:

 

BE CAREFUL.”

 

Tom didn’t usually write in all capitals, but he felt the dramatic need to emphasize with just a touch more flare.

 

“Also, I’ve drawn the Hermit card reversed for you as well. You really have been feeling quite lonely, haven’t you? 

 

Should we meet sometime soon?

 

Tom”

 

Tom paused. Should he mention how much he found himself missing the cozy room that they both shared in Hogsmeade? He sighed, thinking better of it. How would he even describe it anyway? He would sound so disgustingly…sentimental. 

 

The question he chose this time was a bit more specific. “Why did we depart from London?”

 

He took a moment to find two rather large, strong looking owls to coax into taking the box. “I know it’s rather cold. I’ll reward you when you return though.” He cooed to the feathery creatures, handing his parcel off. “And don’t forget the letter.” He attached the sealed envelope to the box.

 

Xx

 

That evening, the box landed on his lounge room coffee table with a loud thud, startling Harry out of his doze. How the owls had managed to squeeze it into his room, he didn’t know, but he felt obligated to give them what was left of the pumpkin pie he’d had for dinner as compensation for their labor. They picked at it while he lowered himself to the floor before the box.

 

He knew what was inside it before he’d even opened it. Or at least, he had his suspicions. He none-too-carefully tore the box open and laughed upon seeing the Nimbus. He couldn’t believe Tom and gone out and bought him a broomstick just because he’d mentioned wanting to fly! While not nearly as fast as either the Nimbus 2000 or his Firebolt, he was looking forward to taking it on a test drive.

 

But before that, he was going to read and reply to Tom’s letter.

 

“To be discreet,” he wrote in response to Tom’s question. It was a barely legible scribble, but the parchment accepted it all the same.

 

“I can’t believe you sent me a broomstick! You didn’t need to do that! But thank you so, so much Tom. Come Christmas, I’ll get you absolutely anything you ask for, alright? You won’t have to worry about getting me anything, obviously. The broomstick is more than enough.

 

I’m not sure it’d be fair to race me on this broomstick. It’s one of the fastest around. I’ll still race you though, if you want. Maybe I’ll be able to teach you a thing or two about flying.”

 

Harry sighed and dropped his face into his hand as he thought about how to address the Dumbledore section of the letter. It was a difficult subject to tackle.

 

“Well, to be fair, you were endangering the other students prior to meeting me, so it’s not like his suspicions are unfounded. I’m not trying to belittle how much you’ve changed in the time we’ve known each other, but you can’t expect him to be all sunshine and daisies right away, especially as you won’t even speak to him.

 

Actually, I think you might be a little paranoid. He’s not the sort of man that goes around reading minds. If he had been, he would have figured out something was going on ages ago, right?

Dumbledore’s a good man. If I were to trust anyone with my secret, it would be him.

 

I’m sorry, I started reading your explanation but my eyes kind of just glazed over. I never much like Divination or anything to do with it. I got a poor in it in my O.W.Ls. That’s how little I cared for it. A better mark than what I got for History of Magic, maybe, but not by much. I spent most of my life, and almost every single Divination class being told I was in danger or going to die, so forgive me for not taking it to heart. If I am in danger, I hope it’s danger in the form of diabetes or something because of all the sweets I’ve been buying from Honeydukes. That’d mix things up a bit.

 

And come on, Tom, you didn’t need a card to tell you I’ve been feeling lonely. You already know I miss your company.

 

Still, I don’t want you sneaking out of school on my account. There should be a Hogsmeade trip before Christmas. Let me know what day it is so I can ask for some time off work.

 

Harry.”

 

As per usual, he hid the contents of his letter behind a question: “What kind of broom did you send me?”

 

This time, because he had two Owl’s to utilize, he sent the letter along with a parcel of sweets from Honeydukes and a muggle turtleneck sweater for Tom to wear under his robes when it got cold, which he had been intending to send anyway. 

 

xxx

 

“He misses me.” Tom hissed, his voice sounding surprisingly warm for speaking an entirely new language. He showed the letter to Cosain, which, in retrospect, was a rather useless gesture seeing as she had her eyes firmly closed (as she always did when she was around Tom). She took a prolonged sniff through her monstrous snout before shifting the bulk of her body to make herself more comfortable. The throne-like statue that Tom was lounging on within the Chamber of Secrets was weathered, aged and falling apart, but it sufficed more than enough for the purposes of supporting Tom’s slight form as he chewed lazily on a chocolate frog. “He misses me but he says he doesn’t want me to visit.” Tom scoffed. “He has no confidence in my abilities, I swear.”

 

“The Princess is worried for your sake.” Came the deep vibration of a hiss from Cosain. Her voice sounded majestic and grounded in a sense. Basil tapped Tom on the forehead from his perch on his shoulder, huffing in annoyance (as much as snakes could huff).

 

“You should be grateful for that. Maybe you would eat more if he asked you to.” Basil chided. “I don’t appreciate finding my old scales in the rubbish bin. I left them on your pillow specifically so you could-”

 

“Cosáin,” Tom interrupted. “Why do you call him that? Princess, I mean.” The question had finally occurred to him after weeks of speaking with her.

 

“Why would his lordship be interested in anyone but royalty? This Harry is obviously a Princess.” Tom suddenly wondered if snakes could smile, because Cosain certainly seemed to be smirking down at him. 

 

“Well, it’s decided then. I’m going to drop in. Enough of this ‘exchanging letters’ nonsense. It would be far easier just to speak with him personally.” He carefully eased Basil from his shoulder. “You keep an eye on the Knights for me, hm?” Basil nodded his tiny head as though this were the obvious assumption.

 

“How long will you be gone?” There was concern in that deep, wise tone as Cosain perked up her massive head from resting on the floor.

 

“Only a night.” Tom responded, pushing himself up and wiping away the sugary crumbs on his vest and robes from the sweets Harry had given him. The chocolate had been absolutely heavenly, a guilty pleasure he would never admit to aloud. The nervous hiss that escaped the ‘mighty beast’ could have fooled anyone into thinking that Tom was actually talking to an overprotective cat. “I’ll be careful. I always am.” He chided in response. With an easy smile that Cosain didn’t have the ability to see, Tom made his way to the entrance of the Chamber with quick, decisive steps.

 

—–

 

Harry got out of work at a reasonable hour on Tuesdays. Less people tended to go out for dinner for some reason or another, so Tom knew instinctively that Harry would be home before 6:30 pm. Tuesday was the perfect time to make his grand (or not so grand, but more so subtle and sneaky) escape.

 

Which had been far too easy. Hogwarts was filled to the brim with trusting idiots. A few charming smiles here, some well-worded excuses, and he was well on his way to the empty corridor which led to the secret passages out of the castle if you knew the right gargoyle to talk to. It had taken about an hour or so of trekking in the dingy underground passages before he had found the cap-like doorway which lay at the top of a rickety ladder. The passage was not unlike a long, decrepit fallout shelter, Tom observed as he peeked his head out of what appeared to be hollow rock. Darkness had already fallen and Harry would be off of work soon.

 

He rushed down the path, careful to keep to the shadows and hide his house colors within his billowing winter cloak least he be caught by a passing professor (he inwardly cringed at the thought of being caught by Dumbledore and the questions it would undoubtedly lead to). Keeping his hood drawn had served to hide his face as he darted into the warmth of the Three Broomsticks, and snuck his way up the back set of stairs, looking as natural and forgettable as possible from beneath his worn travel cloak. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice him. The old key still worked on the door of their shared room and he made his way within, setting his rather weighty schoolbag on the floor as he heaved a relieved sigh.

 

Xx

 

Harry didn’t like Tuesdays. They insisted on being slow and boring and that usually led to Harry starting work late and ending work early, which left him with too little time to justify a trip into London but too much time with no company but his thoughts. He would have been quite happy to work well into the night, but his boss seemed to be under the impression he had someone waiting for him at home, so he was always, inevitably, sent away early. He didn’t fancy telling her he went back to an empty room every night. It was bad enough she’d noticed he only ever spoke about Tom.

 

So he meandered back to his room like he did every Tuesday evening, dragging his feet and carrying a box of scones (since Tuesday’s always had a tea and scones special and they usually ended up with a surplus). Before climbing the stairs, he nicked some jam and cream from the Three Broomstick’s kitchen and slathering them onto his scones. He hadn’t bothered with lunch today, so he was hungry enough to shove two into his mouth before he’d even reached his room.

He almost choked on them when he saw Tom.

 

“Tom!” he yelped, slamming a hand over his mouth to prevent the scones from tumbling out. With great difficulty, he forced himself to swallow the half-chewed confectioneries. Their journey down his throat was not a smooth one. By the time they were in his stomach he was coughing and grimacing, reaching for a nearby bottle of mead. He didn’t even care that it was one of the bottles he’d been intending to save for Christmas; he ripped off the protective foil and took a generous gulp of the drink.

 

It took him a few seconds to recover enough to speak. “Tom, what are you  _ doing _ here?” He dropped the bottle back onto the dresser and turned to frown at his ward. “It’s nice to see you, but I’m pretty sure I explicitly said  _ not _ to sneak out in my letter.”

 

Xx

 

This hadn’t quite been the welcome Tom was hoping for. Upon hearing the door open, he turned to greet Harry, ready to meet his astonished, pleased, impressed expression with a proud, dazzling smile in response. But the yelp had caused his counterpart to sputter on what could only be huge pastries crammed into his mouth at the last minute.

 

Tom had forgotten. Tuesdays were  _ scone _ days. 

Normally, Tom would have made sure to keep his emotions carefully in check. Anything even slightly embarrassing was responded to with a polite nod and a smile as circumstance dictated, or simply ignored completely but Tom couldn’t help himself. Seeing Harry defeated by wayward bits of scone he fought to choke down, and then lunge for a bottle of mead (when there was a perfectly good faucet in the kitchen) was hilarious.

 

Tom laughed, genuinely laughed, for the first time in what felt like weeks. Not a derisive sneer, not a dark chuckle, but warm, happy laughter. 

 

“So, I’ve come here to check up on you and it seems I might have almost killed you in the process.” He greeted when he finally caught his breath. He drew back the hood of the traveling cloak and stepped forward to get a good look at Harry. The other man did seem a touch tired, but not too different from when he had departed from him a few weeks ago now. There were a few lines under his eyes where he may have lost a bit of sleep, but it was nothing too serious. Weeks seemed like years at this current rate, and not being able to speak about Harry (or anything that occurred over the summer) while at school had been a trial to say the least. Being with Harry finally now was like taking a breath of fresh, clean air after a decade of being stuck underwater. 

“Are you alright?” He pressed on, pointedly ignoring the question which Harry had asked him. “Have you been sleeping well?”

 

Xx

 

That warm, happy laughter was infectious. Though it was at his expense, Harry’s mouth still curved into a broad smile. He couldn’t help it; it was the sort of laughter one couldn’t hear without smiling, and it made Harry wish Tom laughed like that more often (or had more reasons to laugh like that, rather).

 

“Nah, I’m too resilient to die by scone. I don’t think I could stand having that written on my obituary.”

He wiped his mouth on the back of a sleeve and approached the couch, dropping into two cushions. His exasperation with Tom’s breaking of the school rules hadn’t lasted more than a few seconds, perhaps because he himself had been quite the mischief maker back in the day, albeit usually not on purpose.

 

“Are you still worrying about me? I already told you, I’m fine, Tom. Perfectly capable of looking after myself.” He scratched at his throat, which was still sore, and then quickly dropped his hand into his lap. He didn’t want to remind Tom he’d nearly choked on a scone not five minutes ago.

“I hope checking up on me isn’t the sole reason you came here. I’m the adult! I should be doing that to you.” He folded his arms over his chest, looking Tom up and down. He didn’t appear to be any worse for wear than the last time Harry had seen him. “Speaking of which, how’ve you been?”

 

Xx

 

Tom thought briefly on telling Harry the truth.

There had been three duels since Tom had returned to Hogwarts. It wasn’t the duels themselves that worried Tom in the slightest. Asserting his dominance through combat had proven to be a rather amusing pastime for Tom between his endless varied studies. His inner circle of Knights hadn’t dared to breathe a word against him, of course. But there were whispers that followed him these past few weeks. Whispers that something had shifted within him, something had changed. People seemed slightly more relaxed in his presence, spoke their mind more easily, smiled more brightly. It was an unexpected boon to him, as he studied his fellow peers and how easily he could infiltrate their mentality.

There were always fools willing to challenge him in what they saw to be a ‘softening’ of his persona. He was quick to prove them wrong. Tom was not slowing, softening or stopping. He was charging forward, fighting for every bit of life and power that he could grasp and he’d be damned if anyone dared to tear that away from him. His goals hadn’t changed, they’d simply expanded and shifted direction. He was certain to make their reminder a painful one.

 

“I’m doing just fine.” Tom said with an easy, charming smile as he hefted his bag of books and eased his slender frame into the couch next to Harry. “But, apparently you’re not. I got the Tower card for you this morning, and as we all know, that is a clear indication for ‘death by scone’.” Tom teased, giving Harry a crooked smile as he opened the school bag and pulled out a weathered looking volume. The leather on the cover seemed to be inlaid with ornate script. “It’s about divination.” Tom asserted, handing the book off to Harry before even asking him to hold it, he dove back into the bag for a second volume. “This one is specifically just for Tarot, my  _ favorite _ .” He continued with an indulgent grin, stacking the second book on top of the first, in Harry’s arms. “And this one is for rune stones and a bit on crystal energies at the end. Not quite as interesting as the other two, but still worth a look-through.”

 

Tom seemed to be fishing around his bag once again, giving Harry a somewhat proud smile. “I got them for you.”  _ By stealing them from the library and tearing away the protective wards so that they wouldn’t be located or try to escape from him _ . “I guarantee they’re a good bit more enlightening than the drivel you’ve been fed by your former teacher.” 

 

_ Xx _

 

Harry had been about to regale Tom with some of the outlandish predictions he’d received from Professor Trelawney when Tom started pulling  _ tomes _ out of his bag. His mouth shut with a clack of teeth, and he looked up at Tom, visibly repelled. This wasn’t the direction he’d expected the conversation to go at all; he’d never thought Tom the sort to put this much stake in something as unreliable as divination.

 

As Tom dropped the books into his arms, the only thing that prevented him from grabbing Tom’s bag and shoving them back inside was politeness.

“I don’t know where you got the impression that I’d ever want to read these, but I’m really not interested.” While they looked more dependable than any of the reading material Professor Trelawney had assigned them, Harry didn’t think he’d be able to read more than a few lines before becoming bored. Divination had always been just a filler subject to him. He’d never signed up for the class out of genuine interest.

 

“It’s not that I don’t believe in divination – that’d be stupid after everything I’ve gone through, but I just… I don’t care about it,” he continued, slowly lowering the books to his lap. “I’m fine with dealing with things as they happen. I’d probably never get any predictions right, anyway.”

 

He scratched the back of his neck and cast the books a disgruntled look. Why did wizarding books always have to be ridiculously long? If he’d had any desire to crack them open, it would have taken him a month just to get through the first one.

“If you leave them with me, they’re just going to end up collecting dust. You’d be better off taking them back to Hogwarts with you.”

 

Xx

 

Harry’s face dropped when he saw the books. He looked as though he wanted nothing more than to shove the tombs off of his lap and maybe even use them for kindle. The cringe-worthy politeness he was using only spoke to his underlying careful nature when it came to dealing with subjects to which he knew so little. Harry certainly was a expert fighter, but when it came to studies of symbolism, he was woefully unread.

 

He was playing right into Tom’s hand.

 

“Aha, but that’s where you’re wrong!” Tom cut in as Harry dejectedly admitted that his predictions would probably be incorrect to begin with. “Your observations would be correct, because they’re about you. That’s the brilliance of it. It’s all within your subconscious. It’s a mental study. Let me explain.” With a casual flick of his wand, the books lifted themselves from Harry’s lap and lowered themselves on to the ground next to them. All the while, Tom had pushed himself from his own seat and dove into his bag once again, drawing out a well worn, thick deck of cards all in one fluid motion. 

 

He seated himself on the floor in front of Harry, and held up the deck. “Harry,” He began, his dark eyes glinting with a touch of child-like excitement and a small, secret smile. “What  _ you _ see within this deck differs from what _ I _ see within this deck. The pictures themselves are created to provoke thoughts and recall experiences. Without fail, each card will represent an aspect of you, so your prediction will not be incorrect. It cannot be. Harry, it’s a  _ psychological study _ . The only magical part of these cards are the hands which hold them.” He ran his fingertips fondly over the edges before picking out a random card and holding it up between them.

 

“What do you see?”

 

There were two individuals on the card. Both held their chalices aloft as though to toast one another. An intricate caduceus was drawn in the center leading up to the roman numeral II. Tom bit back a groan. Two of Cups, yet again. He had been drawing that card for himself now for the last three weeks and he couldn’t even begin to tell himself why. All he seemed to be able to discern is that he was overwhelmingly annoyed with the implications.

 

Xx

 

It took incredible will not to drop his face into his hands and sigh. The politeness that’d been instilled in him by his aunt and uncle prevented him from being too overtly disinterested, but his gaze did start to wander while Tom was explaining the function of the cards. He was starting to feel like he was back in Divination, listening to Professor Trelawney latest spiel about ‘the noble art of Divination’.

 

Any moment now, Tom was going to pull out a card that predicted his death.

 

“What do I see…?”

 

He glanced down at the card in Tom’s hand. The picture, he recognized, but its meaning? He had no idea. He’d made no attempt to memorize the cards while doing Divination at Hogwarts. I’d seemed a pointless venture, seeing as he’d had no intention of ever using Divination.

 

“I don’t know. There’s twins in my future?” He shrugged a shoulder. “I should buy two loaves of bread for good luck? I should sing a hymn come two in the morning to be blessed by the powers that be?” The only thoughts being provoked were ones of exasperation.

 

He recognized that he could be a hot spot for fortune tellers (or fortune  _ teller _ , rather, because he’d only ever known one), but he himself was useless at the art. He could never so much as see a shape among tea leaves.

 

Leaning down, he plucked another card out of the deck. It was a picture of a man impaled by swords.

“Uh huh! Knew it. Knew I’d get some sort of ‘death’ card. I just hope, if I do die soon, it won’t be in the manner on this card, because I really don’t fancy having ten swords stuck in me.”

 

Xx

 

Tom had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Harry’s expression went from frustrated to downright bored, and then straight to exasperated. For all of the patience he thought he was showing, his face were telling an entirely different story. As dismayed as Tom might have been at being ignored, even this was useful information to him. He watched the other man carefully, taking mental note.

 

Harry avoided thinking of himself.

 

Every time he was asked to look inward, to search his feelings, to expand on a subject, the conversation stopped abruptly, and awkwardly veered off into another direction. He didn’t want to speak of himself, his past, his thoughts, his feelings, his  _ anything _ . Tom had become his entire new focus. Supporting Tom had become outwardly, his only thought, and yet Tom himself suspected that there were remarkably prominent fears that lay beneath that thin layer.  Was he afraid Tom would slip back into his old habits?  _ Had Tom ever really left his old habits…? _ Harry already seemed ready to snap the cards away from him, and for a moment, Tom thought that he was going knock them out of his hand in frustration, but he ended up pulling a card of his own.

 

The Ten of Swords. The words flashed in his mind before he could force them away. Anger, backstabbing, betrayal, and a final ending to an endeavor.  _ Harry had pulled the card of pain and finality. _

 

Tom’s jaw tightened and his eyes focused in on Harry’s face as he made his snide remark. Taking a deep breath, he gave the other man an easy, comforting smile. “It’s not a ‘death’ card, Harry. None of these cards predict death. You’re thinking too much like your old teacher.” He rolled his eyes theatrically and took the card away, trying not to concentrate too hard on the picture of blood leaking out of the body. He put the cards back into their deck and slipped the deck protectively into his pocket before getting himself up from the floor. He leaned forward, dangerously close to Harry’s face before grabbing the bottle of mead sitting beside his counterpart and pulling back again with a teasing grin.

 

“So, how has the house hunt been going? If I remember right, you said the last place you were looking was London, correct?”

 

If Harry refused to talk of his past, or his feelings, or his thoughts quite yet, then the mundane present would have to do. He wanted to put the other man at ease before he could truly learn more of him. He took a sip of the sweet, honey wine before seating himself once again next to Harry.

 

xxx

 

It looked like a pretty straightforward omen of death to him. It had the corpse of a man on it; a corpse impaled by swords, and you didn’t get much deader than lying on the ground with ten swords in your back. Even if it did mean something else, it couldn’t be anything positive. Fortunes of a future plagued by suffering had been common among Professor Trelawney’s predictions as well, though arguably, those had been correct, if not in the matter of which she said he would experience the suffering.

 

He frowned as Tom retrieved the mead from the dresser. It was quite a strong one. Not as strong as firewhisky, but strong enough that he was hesitant to allow Tom to drink it, no matter how close to seventeen he might have been.

 

“You know, that’s a really-“

 

He’d already taken a sip. Harry sighed and sunk back into the couch, conceding defeat before he’d even begun to fight. He’d been going to let Tom drink it on Christmas day, anyway, as a treat. Might as well let him have a few sips of it now so he could gauge whether or not he liked it. If he did, Harry would grab another bottle to accompany their Christmas dinner.

 

(He wasn’t being a very responsible caretaker, he knew, but in some respects Tom was more mature than him anyway.)

 

“I’m trying to find a place close to Diagon Alley, under the wards and all, but it seems like I’m not the only one. There aren’t that many places available for rent.” He leaned heavily on a palm, frowning. “I’ve found a few good apartments and houses, but it’d be way easier if we could just set up one of those tent-house-things and live in it. I actually asked one of the sellers about that and they said it was illegal.”

 

He shrugged. He didn’t particularly want to subject Tom to living in a tent again, anyway.

 

“There is one place I’m really interested in renting, though. It’s not huge, but it’s comfortable, and the renter isn’t asking for a lot. I’ll have to show you when the Christmas holidays arrive.”

 

Xx

 

Tom was happy to hear that the living in a tent was illegal, given that living in their current housing leant itself to a rather cushy lifestyle. Then again, anything was better than being doomed to that godforsaken orphanage in the center of an explosively deadly conflict. Here, he had food, a warm bed and the promise of waking up the next morning. His logic would have reasoned that he should be thankful for what he could get, but his ambition reasoned that he should always fight for more.

 

“An apartment outside Diagon Alley.” He repeated, letting the words settle in his mind as he tried to imagine life after schooling, or even life with Harry continuing on. It seemed surreal to him, unimaginable. “London may not be the safest place to settle down in retrospect. Unless you know something I don’t, of course…”  _ Like when this damned war was going to end. _ Hopefully Harry would actually share something useful about the future, aside from notifying him of how murderous and destructive his former self was.

 

“Have you ever given any thought to doing a bit of traveling?” Tom’s expression shifted to a casual curiosity, innocent probing, his eyebrows lifting slightly. “Have you ever wanted to see how other cultures handle magic? I hear in America, wandless magic common among the natives. And, in Japan, their robes shift colors depending on their…year?” He squinted, trying to remember the notes he had taken on other magical societies.

 

“Either way, it sounds very interesting to me. I think you would like it. Don’t you think you’d like to see it?” He trailed, just a touch longingly as he took another sip of the wine. It tasted sweeter than usual.

 

Xx

 

There was a reason Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldron stood despite the assault of bombs. So long as they were in close vicinity to the wizarding world, one was rarely in danger of harm. Live close enough, in an apartment built and owned by magical beings, and you needn’t worry about bombs at all. Even if Harry had decided upon an apartment that was purely muggle-owned, he knew there were spells one could apply to protect oneself. Wards and alarms and the like. In a lot of respects, the war was solely a muggle problem, though Tom had the misfortune of growing up close enough to muggles to have the muggle experience of war. 

 

“Magic,” he said, shrugging. “Something we both know, presumably,” he added with a playful little grin.

 

The suggestion of travel gave him pause. He hadn’t put a great deal of thought into the future, if he was honest. Often he wondered if he would even have a future, or if his life was meant to simply be a means to an end to the Tom Riddle conundrum. Granted, he didn’t consider Tom a burden, not anymore. As each day passed, Tom felt more and more like a blessing than a burden of destiny.

 

“I guess I could. I mean- we could, after you finish school. You…” He’d travelled extensively in the former timeline, but Harry decided against mentioning that. “We might want to give Japan a miss for the time being, though; we are kind of in a war against them at the moment and all. I don’t think they’d take kindly to a couple of Englishmen walking around. Plus there’s the whole, er…” Probably best not to mention atomic bombs to Tom, who seemed quite frightened of bombs in general.

 

“Anyway, yeah. There’s your answer.”

 

Xx

 

Foiled once again. Harry was just a touch too clever to be revealing the ‘secrets of the future’ just because Tom asked politely. Tom couldn’t help but give him a sarcastic roll of the eyes in response. Of course magic was involved in the protection of wizarding establishments around London, but that gave him absolutely nothing when it came to answering the ultimate question: when was this conflict finally ending? He had been caught in the middle of it ever since he was a child, and it felt as though it would literally drag on for years and years to come, like a heavy fog of poverty and horror that remained long after the shower of German bombs had passed.

 

But Tom knew it was a lost cause. He shook his head gently and giving Harry a frustrated frown when the young man wasn’t looking. When his companion got like this, it was nearly impossible to convince him otherwise. He apparently didn’t seem to think it imperative that Tom knew exactly what was about to happen next. While in a normal situation, this would have irked Tom to no end, he found that he really couldn’t bring himself to push the subject. Perhaps it was a testament to his faith within Harry’s skills, or within all that he and Harry had experienced since their unlikely companionship had begun…or perhaps even within the strength of that divine tasting wine (yes, it was quite strong, but just as equally pleasant), but Tom didn’t feel the need to press Harry further.

 

Was this what one might call trust?The thought of that felt rather uncomfortable to Tom, so he shoved the notion away.

 

Tom quirked an eyebrow at Harry as the young man cut himself off rather suddenly. A slow smile spread across Tom’s angular face as he shook his head knowingly. Even when Harry was doing his best to hide what may or may not happen in the future, there were always little secrets that seemed to seep through. “Note to self, avoid Japan for the next few years.” He murmured, biting back a grim laugh. That sort of cut off sentiment left very little to the imagination that could be good. “To the colonies it is then.” He said with an easy smile. “I’ve always wanted to learn a bit of wandless magic anyway. We’ll have to enjoy the cherry blossom festival some other time.” He leaned back easily on the couch with Harry, giving him a sidelong glance as though he could peer into his mind without piercing his thoughts. There was an easy, unguarded grace to the way that he lifted the bottle of wine to his lips once again.

 

For the first time in a very long while, Tom felt very warm. That warmth would linger within him long after he departed for the night, snuck through the passages back to school, all the way back until he reached his dormitory. He collapsed on to the cushions of his bed, burying his face within the pillow to try to stave off the slight tipsiness of the evening. That warmth would begin to fade once he realized how much he wished he had simply never left Harry’s room at all.


	9. Oh, What a Christmas to Have the Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO, YOU WONDERFUL INDIVIDUALS! :D Just to explain this a bit, half of this chapter is still the roleplay between myself and and HeroComplexing (http://herocomplexing.tumblr.com/). The other half or so is only me! That's right, friends. I'm taking over from here on out. 
> 
> Does this mean the entire story be told from Tom's point of view from this point onward? Absolutely not. Does this mean that you will still be getting alternating viewpoints? Probably yes, but not quite as frequently. I might alternate viewpoints per chapter, rather than continuing to do so within the context of the story. This will definitely help with keeping the dialogue flowing a bit more naturally. 
> 
> I apologize to anyone that may have been looking forward to a continuing roleplay, but I'm afraid that HeroComplexing is no longer writing as Harry, and that's totally ok! We're still friends and I love them dearly, but they needed to move on to other things and I totally respect that. 
> 
> I just wanted to warn all of you wonderful readers about the changes happening. Also, I would love to know what you thought of this chapter. Taking over the bulk of the writing was more tough, but extremely fun and I really want to continue the story. I have several mysteries set up that I need to see resolved within the context of the world that we've created. Being that I'm doing all of the writing now, I need your feedback and support now more than ever. 
> 
> Please, pleASE, PLEASE LEAVE COMMENTS AND KUDOS. I love you all for doing so in previous chapters, and I would love to see even more of them now that I'm trying to work up to the grand finale. I love hearing your thoughts, opinions, hopes and suggestions and I would be honored to see even more of them! Thank you again for following along with this story and I hope that you'll continue to stick with me. 
> 
> I love all of you and thank you again! Your support warms my cold, dark heart. :)

The days approaching Christmas were some of the most uneventful of the year. It was quite an odd experience for Harry, as Christmas was generally when things had started going wrong in his youth. 

 

At his insistence, Tom hadn’t snuck out at night to visit him again, and with classes wrapping up, Tom’s ability to visit Harry during the day was sporadic at best. To keep himself occupied, he took as many shifts at the café as he could, often staying behind to chat to his co-workers well after he was due home. He valued his privacy, but he found he didn’t really enjoy solitude. During those quiet hours, it made the absence of Hermione and Ron too explicit, too painful. Even knowing they would live well into old age in this timeline, it was hard to accept that the Hermione and Ron he had come to love were gone forever. 

 

He started focusing on preparing for Christmas as the final days of the school term approached. While his feast would pale in comparison to the one hosted at Hogwarts, he still bought as many of the foods he remembered being served as possible; a roast chicken, ham, sticky date pudding, vegetables of all varieties, eggnog, gingerbread cookies, cranberry sauce, chipolata’s, and two expensive bottles of mead. It put quite a dent in his savings, but he wanted to make this Christmas a memorable one for Tom.

 

It took him longer than it should have to decide upon a gift for Tom. He felt buying something from Hogsmeade would be considered lazy, so he sought out unique bits and bobs in Diagon Alley instead. In the end, he bought Tom a beautiful gold chain watch that would be able to tell Tom both the time and the location of any person he submitted to the device. He bulked up his present with a few books on defensive magic, then wrapped it and placed it under a miniature pine tree he’d bought and decorated with tinsel and baubles.

 

Three days before Tom was due home, Harry sat in the depths of the Three Broomsticks Inn with a glass of butterbeer and wrote up a list of what he planned to do with Tom on Christmas Eve, Christmas day, and Boxing day. So far, he’d listed everything from ‘going to a festival’ to ‘visiting the countryside’. He was leaning towards the festival more so than the countryside. According to the lovely woman he worked with, it was one of the most memorable and bombastic events of the year.

 

\-----

 

**Seven days left.**

 

Tom didn’t want to admit to himself exactly how much he was looking forward to the Christmas break. It felt odd, to be part of the crowd that counted down the days until they could burst free of the confines of schoolwork, spellwork and homework. Normally, Hogwarts was a comfort to Tom, and knowing that he could hide away within its labyrinthine halls for the duration of the entire winter break all alone with his books, his studies and his schemes was a blessing that he rarely ever questioned the good fortune of having. But recently, it was not as if Hogwarts had lost its appeal, and more that he could not help his mind from wandering back to Hogsmeade, where Harry was currently working at some mind-numbingly boring job waiting tables. He would likely be needing for Tom’s company very soon. 

 

If the man was not so bloody proud, he could have had Tom’s company whenever he damn well pleased, but after that last impromptu trip into the village when Tom had drunk half the bottle of wine Harry had been saving for winter celebrations, he had insisted that Tom stay on school grounds until break. He had been annoyingly stubborn on this new rule, and frankly, the time with his own ‘family’ had given Tom a chance to coach and tutor them into something resembling an effective crew of wizards. He thought back on Avery’s cheers of joy when he had finally achieved a successful vanishing charm after hours upon hours of practice, and Travers’ boisterous roar of triumph at gotten a passing grade at Transfiguration for the first time in…well, forever.

 

As he relaxed within his dormitory, he pulled a small, neat box from beneath his mattress. He pulled the curtains on his four poster bed closed before carefully opening the package to reveal a shining golden ball and two protective leather gloved gauntlets. The the crisp, earthen smell of the leather was telling enough that these articles were brand new. The small golden ball lay dormant within its case, glimmering softly in the low light of the dormitory as it’s silver wings lay lazily to its sides. A look of dismay crossed Tom’s features for what must have been the hundredth time as his lips pursed in worry.  _ Did this look cheap? Had he not gotten enough?  _ Tom had wanted to buy the full set of Quidditch armor for Harry, but upon seeing the price, that ideal was simply too far from his reach. He had been forced to settle for the gloves and the snitch, but this would not stop Tom from making this Christmas gift as personalized and beautiful as possible. What he lacked in funds, he would make up for in sheer resourcefulness and skill.

 

All along the surface of the golden snitch and the exterior of the leather gloves were thin, spidery, golden lines, intricately woven like threads. They moved and shifted in the soft candlelight of the room, spinning and twisting themselves into several different designs. One moment it was the beautiful sheen of snakeskin, the next, it had morphed into an intricate array of medallions, arranged like a stained glass window, the next, it was the roaring lion of the Gryffindor’s crest (as much as Tom had hated to draw that on a perfectly innocent pair of gloves). The images were as beautiful as they were fleeting. Tom set the gloves aside to begin work on the designs on the surface of the golden ball. 

 

Tom was so immersed in his careful wand work that he failed to notice a hand emerging from outside his four poster behind him, lunging to his pillow and snatching up a single dark hair from the pillowcase. He did not notice when the figure retreated speedily from the room. He did not even notice the dark looks of simmering anger that the young Lord Black was casting in his direction. In his anticipation to get the gift done in time, Tom did not notice much of anything aside from his work.

 

**Four days later,** a tall, hooded figure approached Harry while he sat at the table at the restaurant he was employed at. The figure peered curiously down at him, tilting his head as though waiting for Harry to awaken from his pensive state and notice him. It was only a moment more before the figure drew back their hood, revealing the extremely familiar angular face, high cheekbones, and neat black hair of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

 

“Hello.” Tom said softly, as though testing the water, his voice sounding slightly strained, the cadence just a touch off from his usual confident, witty demeanor.

 

Xx

 

Harry was something of a lightweight when it came to alcohol. Consequently, after a single glass of fire whiskey, he was warm and drowsy and growing disinterested in employing critical thinking to his list. For a considerable (and excessive) length of time, he simply imagined the grand Christmas he and Tom would have, imagined the warmth and laughter and excitement of all he had planned. It was the first time in years Harry had waited on Christmas with eager anticipation rather than the standard dread.

 

His reverie was interrupted when someone extended him a greeting. Harry turned in his seat, his slight inebriation making it a less than graceful movement. 

 

“Tom?” He hadn’t recognised his voice, soft and strained as it was. Upon seeing him, he found it impossible not to smile. He really ought to have scolded Tom and told him to return to Hogwarts, like a good role model would have, but Harry was warm, drowsy, and happy, and he’d desperately missed Tom. 

 

He stood from his chair to pull Tom’s hood back over his face. He didn’t want anyone recognising him and telling the Hogwart’s staff. “You’re three days early, and I’m guessing that’s not because they decided to give you an extended Christmas holiday.”

 

It took Harry a moment to remember his list was still on display, and when he finally did, he hastily folded the parchment it in half and shoved it into a pocket. 

 

Xx

 

The boy was absolutely sloshed.  _ Excellent _ .

 

Tom wore a tight smile as he peered over at Harry, his eyes narrow as he assessed his companion. His gaze shifted from the Harry’s tousled hair to his wide, warm smile. There was absolute trust within every action that Harry took, from the way he was gladdened by Tom’s presence, to the goofy way he tripped over himself to get over to Tom’s side and hastily shove the hood over his head once again.   
  


Tom made a motion as though to swat away Harry’s attentions, not appreciating being touched in the slightest, but he held himself back, relaxing the hand and turning it to gently caress Harry’s arm, as if to thank him. That same, awkward, tight smile graced Tom’s face, as though he were unaccustomed to wearing the expression. “Harry,” He began, his tone slightly off, as though it were someone playing a song in the entirely wrong key. “Harry, I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to come and see you.” 

 

Tom’s grip on Harry’s arm tightened as he looked to him with urgency. “I need to show you something.” He glanced back to the door of the cafe, as though the need for privacy was overwhelming as he tugged at Harry’s arm. “We must go immediately.” He whispered, leaning in close to the other boy and fixing him a strangely intense gaze.

 

Xx

 

Harry’s perceptual prowess might have been attenuated by the alcohol, but he could still tell Tom was a little off. His voice wasn’t quite right and his expression had an underlying element of strain. However, his first thought was not that something was amiss with Tom, but that Tom required some Potter brand heroics.

 

He really shouldn’t have had the fire whiskey. His eye-hand coordination was significantly impaired; he’d be utterly useless in a duel.

 

Harry allowed Tom to guide him to the exit of the Three Broomsticks Inn, hand finding his wand as they stepped beyond the sight of the patrons.

 

“You sound- really off, you know.” He looked Tom up and down, like he was expecting Tom to unveil a horrendous injury. “What’s happened?”

 

Xx

 

Several strangers shot inquisitive looks at the young, hooded man and the companion that he was dragging behind him. As they sped through the Three Broomsticks, Tom’s long arm accidentally upset a tea tray in the process, causing him to curse softly, yet not bothering to slow his gait or even acknowledge the mess that was made before dragging Harry out onto the cobblestones.

 

“Just a bit further, now.” He muttered, frustration heavy in his unusually thick voice as he hauled an extremely worried Harry behind him. Despite the young man’s inebriated state, he seemed quite attentive to how Tom seemed to be acting. They rounded corner after corner of the alleyways leading off of the Main Street before Tom finally turned around once again.

 

A wicked smile crossed Tom’s features as he drew forth a black wand with an elegantly curved handle. “Expelliarmus!” He cried, reaching up to grab Harry’s wand as it flew from his hand. “Stupfy!” He snapped directly after he caught Harry’s wand.

 

Xx

 

Harry would have to apologise to the bartender on Tom’s behalf when he got back. He’d never seen Tom be so harried, and it was unusual to hear him swear. His vocabulary was generally very polite and formal.

 

“Tom- hey-“ He tried to gently dislodge Tom’s grip, but it didn’t do much good. “Slow down- calm down! Whatever’s wrong, we’ll deal with it, but you need to stop panicking!”

 

Snow crunched beneath their boots. They were descending deeper and deeper into the labyrinthine alleyways of Hogsmeade, the activity around them becoming distant, quiet, until it was barely perceptible at all. When they finally came to a stop, they were completely and utterly alone. 

 

“Do you have a cold or something? You sound-“ and that was as far as he got before noticing the wand sliding out of Tom’s sleeve, a wand that was notably not Tom’s. He had a vague recollection of seeing that somewhere before, but he hadn’t the time nor mental faculties to grasp it before a spell was being cast in his direction. He fumbled to retaliate, but it was too late; his wand made a graceful arc through the air and was promptly caught by the impostor.

 

He leapt to the side the moment his wand vacated his hand, seeking safety, the stupfy skimming over his side and exploding against the snowy cobblestones. The result was a messy sprawl in a foots width of snow. 

 

Harry flipped onto his back. There was no point in trying to find cover. There wasn’t anything nearby he could utilise.

 

“Where’s Tom?” he asked in a snarl, because he needed to know. A visceral combination of terror and anger gripped him at the thought of Tom being in danger.

 

Xx

 

Damn that sneaky little bastard for being more skilled than he seemed, even when he was drunk!

 

The imposter pocketed Harry’s wand and did his best to keep his own wand aimed at the young man as he flailed out of the way of Tom’s second attack. The Stupfy spell careened towards the other end of the alley, uselessly striking a wall and causing a cascade of snow to explode. He snarled in anger at the sheer impertinence that Harry seemed to have to someone who was so plainly his superior. Every moment he spent dueling this little twit was a moment that would be stolen away from torturing the boy for information later.

 

It was clear that this young Harry was hiding something. His mind was easy enough to try to read, as the imposter had quickly learned, but extraordinarily hard to understand. He lunged forward, pointing the tip of his dark, wooden wand directly at Harry’s heart as a slow, wicked smile spread across Tom’s stolen face. His laugh was quick, low and cruel, a deep anger simmering just beneath the surface of control. This imposter Tom clearly wanted the job to be over and done with, and he would not be backing down anytime soon.

 

“Whatever do you mean, Harry? I’m right here…” He snapped, his tone edging on enraged. “And I’m so looking forward to our Christmas together. We’re going to have so much fun, boy.” Tom’s normally graceful motions were lanky and awkward when placed within another’s control. His voice, so normally smooth and elegant as velvet, was strained and choppy. Everything about him seemed overwhelmingly dissonant.

 

“I think it’s time that our celebration began, don’t you?” He whispered. Without warning, he released another stunning curse at point blank, making sure that this time, he would not miss.

 

Xx

 

They weren’t Tom. Harry knew they weren’t Tom. Certainly, Tom had wielded different wands in the past to evade detection from the Ministry, but he just knew it wasn’t Tom. His movements were wrong, his voice was wrong. He lacked the grace and poise of the man Harry had come to be so familiar with. Harry wouldn’t believe his claim for a second.

 

“You’re really giving your acting skills too much credit,” he snapped back, ignoring the wand pointed at his heart in favour of maintaining eye contact. He’d faced far more formidable opponents than whoever this man was.

 

If he’d wanted to reply to the impostors question, he wasn’t given the opportunity; a flick of their wand and he fell to the snow, unconscious. There was no way anyone could evade a stupefy at such close proximity.

 

Xx

 

The imposter stared down at the boy as he lay crumpled on the ground. There was a grim satisfaction that settled across his stolen, winsome features as he lowered his wand slowly. He nudged Harry’s prone body unceremoniously with a toe as though testing whether or not the boy was really knocked unconscious. After he had enjoyed the sight of his enemy defeated before him, and was certain of his prone state, he was joined by two more dark, hooded figures. The imposter jerked his head toward Harry and in a heartbeat of a moment, he was lifted from the ground and carried silently away, leaving nothing but snow prints on the cold, dull cobblestones.

  
  
  


Tom awoke with a gasp.

 

It had been the middle of the night, but the wretched dream he had awoken from had been jarring enough to ensure that there was absolutely no hope for him to fall back into a restful state. Panting lightly, he peered about his four poster, feeling relief flood him as he realized that his nightmare was far from real. It had been quite a long time since Tom had any dreams aside from nightmares, but they always seemed to be kept away when he was nearby Harry. It was almost never an issue when they slept in the same room…

 

With a note of anticipation and satisfaction, he realized he would not have to wait long to be rejoined with his companion. This was his last day at school. His trunk was packed, his books were stowed away, his gift for Harry was completed. He had even managed to slip his Tarot card deck in with his clothes in hopes that Harry would let him read for him once again. Tom bit back laughter just thinking of the look of bored dismay that Harry would give him at that mere notion.

 

They would eat, drink and generally get the chance to catch up that Tom had been robbed of for these past few months apart. A smile spread across his face, unbeknownst to him as he slipped out of his bed. There was no hope for him to get back to sleep after that jarring nightmare, so he settled for putting his neat, clean school robes back on and going downstairs for a bit of studying before he would need to get moving for the day.

 

Xx 

 

A soft, fluttering noise would be the first thing Tom heard upon entering the vacant dormitories later that evening. The young Black had been instructed to release the howler only after the great farewell feast, and only when Tom was alone. Most had chosen to remain at the feast until the train arrived to take them home, but Orion knew Tom had a habit of retiring to his bed to wait, perhaps out of loathing for where he had to return to (though he seemed uncharacteristically happy about his new living circumstances theses days; Orion’s father hadn’t been forthcoming about why that was).

 

As an extra element of vigilance, he cloaked the dormitory with a muffling spell, standing nearby to observe his actions. He was to report back to his father the moment Tom had responded to the howler.

 

The red envelope came floating down to Tom’s bed, trembling and twitching, as though encasing a small animal rather than a message. Or perhaps it was the volume and intensity of the message that had made it prematurely fidgety.

 

Within seconds of Tom stepping into its vicinity, it had exploded open in an almost comical display of gnashing paper teeth. The message, however, was nothing to be laughed at, and it bellowed throughout the room, impossibly loud.

 

“Mister Riddle, you have been cordially invited to a Christmas get together at the Black Estate! Celebrations start – oh, about two days ago; you’re absurdly tardy. You needn’t worry about inviting your friend, however; I have done so for you.

 

Go on, mudblood. Say hello.”

 

Another voice, identifiably Harry’s, spoke.

 

“Tom, don’t panic. I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry-“

 

“Crucio.”

 

And then a bellowing scream tore through the room. Even Orion, as accustomed as he was to his father’s illicit activities, felt the colour drain out of his skin.

 

“Does that sound fine to you, Mister Riddle? We’ll expect you shortly.

 

Warm regards, Arcturus Black.”

 

The moment the message was finished, the howler proceeded to burst into flames and scatter across the floor, lifeless and smouldering. Orion watched carefully for Tom’s response.

 

Xx

 

When Tom had retired to his room for the remainder of the evening, after the festivities, he had been expecting a quiet night to collect his thoughts before departing for the apartment in Hogsmeade. Frankly, he found himself so distracted by the thought of leaving that he could hardly keep himself attentive to conversation at the feast itself. When he entered the seemingly abandoned dormitories, he jumped in surprise as the rather unassumingly small red letter floated and twitched it’s way up to him. It seemed to be barely able to contain its message as it approached, and it made it’s way to his side before exploding into a cacophony of noise.

 

Tom stiffened in shock as the letter boomed his name back to him. He listened to the snide, affronting invitation in stoic silence, seemingly frozen where he stood, hardly breathing. Harry’s pained cries filled filled the room and Tom did not so much as twitch. His wide, dark eyes stared forward, hard and focused as the message ended with a violent, yet relatively small burst of flame that left an untidy puff of ashes on the floorboards. 

 

Tom stared down at the remainder of his invitation. He did not move, did not speak, and frankly, he was hardly breathing. Cold tendrils gripped at the base of his stomach as a sensation pumped through him like an infection. His mind was moving quickly with thoughts Tom assumed he had left long behind by now, yet, here they were, back again to flawlessly plot out every single, tiny little detail…

 

_ Tom wanted to murder Lord Black. _

 

Tom wanted to hold Lord Black’s neck in his slender hands and slowly, carefully,  _ intimately _ squeeze until he could no longer struggle. Tom wanted to cut him, to slice away at the fragile skin of his face until he was no longer recognizable. Tom wanted to set him aflame and wait to hear his agonizing death cries, to smell the revolting, oily smoke that would billow from him in frenetic, black clouds. He could do it. He could find a way to frame the family, use Lord Black’s connections against him. The Malfoys were always vying for power. They would certainly be willing to help where they could, as long as gaining status was concerned. He could enlist the help of the Dolohov family as well. They always had a deft hand in…waste disposal.

 

These thoughts all seemed to try their best at covering up the crippling panic that burst from the back of his mind whenever he dared to let himself think of what may have happened to Harry. What may be happening to him right now. It was a trap, quite obviously a trap, but one that left him very little choice in how to respond. Harry’s life was at stake. Without meaning to, the memory of Harry hovering over him, begging him to calm down when they had escaped from London bubbled up into the forefront of his mind, his eyes glimmering like the night stars above them. 

 

Tom could not afford to fail.

 

“Orion.” Tom called to the dark corner of the room in which the other boy was hiding. His voice was soft, gentle, almost welcoming. He did not need to look over to know that the other young man was watching him carefully with wide, terrified eyes. “Orion, I think that you and I need to have a little talk.” The cold smile that Tom wore did nothing to enhance his features as he turned to face his companion. If anything, there was an animalistic sort of ruthlessness that Tom had not felt this strongly in months. He had no reason to hold back. Not anymore.

 

Xx

A startling cold gripped Orion’s chest, stilling and silencing him. Tom already knew he was there, but he scarcely breathed nonetheless. He knew what the budding dark lord was capable of, and while his father would have been able to manage against Tom’s fury, Orion was well below Tom’s level of magical competency (as loath as he was to admit it). 

_ Tom has used the torture curse _ , his mind told him, useless babbling thing that it was.  _ He is good at it. Very good at it, and he didn’t have the anger in his demonstrations that he has now. _

He swallowed, his throat very dry. His hand darted to his robe pocket, already tremoring. He closed his fingers around the handle of his wand. 

He’d heard rumours that Tom could do  _ wandless  _ magic. He hoped that wasn’t true.

“Go to my father, Tom,” Orion said, his voice deceptively calm despite his racing heart. His father had taught him how maintain composure under pressure. It was a necessary skill when ones parents were so deeply involved in the dark arts; one had to learn how to lie, how to deceive. You had to be able to look into a ministry officials eyes and say no, sir, my father never tortured any muggles, nor killed any, all the while blood dried under your fingernails.

“He thinks highly of you, Tom; he always has,” continued Orion. “He just wants what’s best for you.” And fraternising with a mudblood? Sullying the good name of Salazar? There was little worse Tom could have done.

 

Xx

 

“Orion.” Tom said, teasing the word out, soft and inviting as he turned to his unlikely companion and took a step in his direction. His smile did not falter, and he did not blink. It was as if he were channeling the unerring focus of a snake, slowly closing in on his prey, hypnotizing them with his gaze. “You and your father, you’ve known me for quite a while, haven’t you?” He murmured pensively, watching the boy, noticing every tiny little detail, every telling weakness or sign of fear.

The boy was tense, wound up tighter now than a spring. He tried to hide his hand behind his back as he was reaching for his wand but it was of no avail. All of his thoughts hid behind a cobbled together wall of Occlumency. Yet, to Tom, it was clear enough the sheer panic that ran through the other boy’s head. His mind remained unreadable, but his face was a mixture of stoic denial and barely contained fear.

It was crystal clear to Tom, Orion had been forced to lie before, but never to the extent he would have to do right at this moment. Never to save his own life.

Tom’s smile widened. “I find it so strange, that after all these years, we really do know so very little about one another.” Tom said, stepping closer, taking his sweet time and keeping his distance.

“And so,” he took a quick breath as if he were about to continue, but instead, in one fluid motion, he drew out his wand and wordlessly, cast a knockback jinx in Orion’s direction, sending him flying into the wall behind him. 

Quick as a viper, Tom lunged forward, snatching Orion’s wand from his pocket. He hoisted the smaller boy up and dragged him over to a chair nearby before murmuring “Incarcerous” and watching as long strands of thick, black rope wound their way around Orion, tightly binding him down, rendering him immobile. 

Tom sighed, peering down at Orion and giving him a bright smile as he slid the other boy’s wand into the inside pocket of his robes. “I think we should get to know one another a little better,  _ don’t you agree? _ ” He tilted his head expectantly at him.

Orion looked shellshocked. He was gasping for breath, his wide eyes glancing desperately as he struggled with his bindings. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He hissed through clenched teeth, glaring up at his captor. His anger died almost immediately after peering up at Tom’s serene smile, and his cold, calculating eyes. Gulping heavily, his labored breathing did not seem to ease up in the slightest as Tom took a few slow steps forward.

“Orion,” He purred, crouching down next to him so that they were now at eye level. “You’re going to tell me everything you know. Do you understand?” 

 

“They’ll catch you, Tom.” Orion fought to keep his voice steady and even despite the sweat beginning to drip down his face, tracing his sharp chin. “I’ll scream and everyone will come running down here-” 

 

“Will they, Orion?” Tom’s smile widened as he gave his wand a fancy little wave. “Why don’t you just try it?” He said politely, gesturing grandly to the door and stepping aside. 

 

Orion’s focus wavered between Tom’s frigid eyes and the doorway. Trembling, he clutched at the arms of his chair, feeling the ropes tighten on his ribcage and torso as he took a deep breath in. “I demand assistance!” 

 

“ _ Louder _ , Orion. How will anyone know to come and rescue you?” Tom said, a smile teasing at the edge of his tone.

 

“Help! ...Help!” Orion cried, unable to tear his eyes away from the doorway now. Tom understood that Orion heistated to comply with anything he demanded, but in the same breath, Tom knew Orion could not help the tiny flicker of hope that remained within him. “Someone, please!”  He cried, the plea bursting out of him as he pulled at the ropes on his arms, feeling the thick material bite into his skin. “Tom’s gone mad! He’s absolutely mad! Someone get Slughorn! Contact my father! PLEASE!” He shrieked, willing anyone up above the Slytherin dungeons to hear him.

 

“Help, help! Come quick! He’s going to  _ murder _ me!” Tom chimed in, his tone edge with a joyless  smile. He stood, taking a moment to catch his breath after all the hilarity, allowing Orion a clear view of the doorway as it stood breathlessly still. No commotion on the other side, no clamor to come to Orion’s aid, nor any questioning shouts. There was not even the subtle hint of the feast above them that Orion knew must be winding down now. Nothing.

 

“My, my, my. It’s almost as if someone’s silenced the room. Imagine that.” Tom’s velvet voice sounded from directly behind him. Orion felt cold fingers slowly wrapping around his neck. “It looks like it’s just you and me.” 

 

This time, Tom let loose a peal of high pitched, cruel laughter. It sent chills down Orion’s spine. He stopped fighting against his restraints, hiding his fear behind a dull, blank stare. Of course, that did not stop his hands from trembling as they gripped the seats of his cushy little seat. 

 

“Tell me everything you know about your father’s little scheme.” Tom said simply, stepping around Orion. He crouched down so that they were both eye level, and Orion could spy a glint of something crimson in those cool, grey eyes. Orion stared stoically forward, his anger solidifying into something beyond fear. He was a proud member of the noble and pure house of Black, after all. There was no pleading and groveling as far as he or his predecessors were concerned.

 

“I’m not going to tell you a damn thing, you filth-“

 

Tom slapped him across the face, and in an instant, fiery pain blossomed out from his cheek, spidering to his lips and nose. Orion shuddered, a smirk curving his lips. He had been hit harder by his father before this, and no amount of slapping could ever come close to the bitter, painful words that Lord Black tended to fling in his direction at any given moment. “T-that…that was nothing.” He spat.

 

Orion’s eyes widened the moment he heard Tom chuckle. “Oh, you sweet boy. I’m just getting started.” He said, caressing the swollen cheek gently and gazing at his captive before moving his hand down to rest on Orion’s restrained wrist. “Now, I need to know, what are your father’s dastardly little plans, hm? What is he doing with Harry and why?” Orion glared icily in response.

 

“Stubborn, stubborn little Lord Black.” Tom smiled. “Well, in this case, I suppose I should ask you what finger is your least favorite then.” Tom tapped at Orion’s hand with his wand, watching as his fingers uncurled at Tom’s unspoken prompting. Orion’s eyes twitched just a fraction as he sucked in air.

 

“What are you…?” He whispered.

 

“Accio.” Tom said casually, waving his hand with an elegant flick of the wrist and watching as a small object leapt into his hand from his potions satchel, wrapped neatly in a length of leather to keep it safe and untarnished. “You know, Orion, there are so many simple ways of causing pain. There’s the unforgivable torture curse, of course. There are a plethora of ways to knock your opponent out. But there are so many refined ways to truly cause despair, even without the use of magic.” He said, his voice airy and light, as if they were conversing over a cup of strong, sweet tea about the latest gossip.

 

Tom unwrapped the small package slowly before Orion’s eyes, revealing an unassuming little knife. A familiar one, in fact. Orion had seen Tom using it to prepare ingredients for his potions lessons, complaining from time to time of how he needed to sharpen it before the year was up. He gulped hard, watching the glint of the blade as Tom casually ran his fingertip along the flat side. “It’s a bit dull, I think. You know how busy I get sometimes. I forgot to sharpen the damn thing, and there’s just never enough time in the day.” He peered down at Orion’s trembling hand, stretched out against his will.

 

“So, which finger did you say you didn’t like?” Tom pressed the blade up to Orion’s pinky finger.

 

Orion became, if possible, paler than before. “Tom, I don’t know anything about my father’s plot, I swear it.” He whispered, his eyes locked to the blade.

 

Tom pressed just a touch, watching as the skin puckered beneath the pressure. Orion hissed in agitation. “Tom, don’t be a fool. I can’t tell you anything about my father’s plot. He hasn’t told me-“

 

The blade pressed harder. Droplets of blood bubbled up from the spot, slowly leaking and dripping down his fingertip. 

 

“He hasn’t told me anything. N-not a damn thing! Tom, please, you must believe me! T-Tom, he doesn’t share anything with me!” 

 

Tom dragged the blade slowly across the top, leaving a sizable cut across the delicate skin. Orion cringed, watching with wide, eyes as he fought to keep himself from whimpering in pain.  

 

“Tom, I’m begging you! You have to believe me!”

 

“ _ I don’t have to do anything you say. _ ” Tom snapped, the dull blade biting just a bit deeper with each articulation of his words. Tears clung to the edges of Orion’s eyes as blood began to dribble down his hand and drip on to the knee of his pants, the dark material slowly growing wet and sticky atop his knee. 

 

“You and your father have stolen something from me and I want it back, do you understand?” Tom continued, his unblinking focus on Orion’s quivering face. “What have you done to aid him, Orion? What is he planning? The more you talk, the less you lose. Do you understand?”

 

“Tom, I-“

 

“ **Do you understand?** ” Tom repeated, his dark eyes burning with barely contained rage as the knife bit deeper. Orion gulped, clenching his teeth and letting out a slow breath, as if trying to calm his nerves beyond the stinging pain of the blade. 

 

“He ordered me to steal a bit of your hair.” Orion whispered. The blade did not relent. “He wanted to get to the bottom of that reason of why Harry was here. Why he seems to always be connected to you. He wants to correct anything…unseemly.”

 

“He wants to use me in the future.” Tom confirmed.

 

Orion nodded slowly. “He had me drop off the howler for you, and to make sure you received it.” He continued as if every single word pained him as it escaped his mouth. The boy bit his lip as Tom waited for him to continue, but Orion seemed unable to press on. 

 

“Is that everything?” Tom said, as calm and collected as when he had first began, yet his eyes glimmering with something far more calculated.

 

Orion gulped, the words on the edge of his tongue, but they refused leave him. Despite the mess of blood that was dripping down and soaking into his trousers, and the sweat coating his smooth, young face. 

“Are you lying to me?”

 

Orion seemed frozen in spot, barely breathing.

 

“You’re lying to me. You know more.” Tom confirmed now, glaring daggers at him. “Tell me. Tell the truth.” 

 

Silence stretched between them and Tom could feel the anger pulsing through his veins. The rage that had ignited the moment he had heard that howler burned more fiercely with every passing second.

 

He could do so much damage with his wand. He knew he could, but there was such a twisted delight in physically seeing part of Orion’s useless little life leak away slowly, intimately. He lifted the knife from the boy’s finger, ignoring the blood that dribbled down the blade to the hilt as he lifted it slowly to the boy’s neck.

 

“What is your father planning, Orion? This is your final warning.” Tom whispered, the press of the blade to Orion’s neck left a long, thin line of red on the soft, youthful skin, stubble just beginning to creep out of the jawline. 

 

Orion did not falter this time. He seemed almost catatonic as he patiently waited for the pain with the grim familiarity of someone who had long since come to terms with his own demise.

 

Tom paused.

 

Nothing should have been keeping him from running that knife across Orion’s exposed neck. In all honesty, it would be rather simple to do so without causing permanent damage. The boy would live, and be horrified enough to tell Tom exactly what he needed to know. Even the visceral, horrific action of being killed by something so blunt as a non-magical object was a terror for someone of Orion’s upbringing, but still, Tom hesitated. Orion’s fear had been stifled away behind the kind of mask that one only wore after they had looked death in the face before.

 

His calm acceptance of pain and the inevitability of suffering. Orion felt this fear before. 

 

There was only one individual in Orion’s life that Tom could imagine would perform such horrifying acts on him, and even the implications were devastating. 

To grow up with Lord Black as a father was a terrifying reality to Orion. In Tom’s case, to suffer under the hands of fate, being cast aside by one’s birth family was one thing. Yet, to be born into a family that continually abused and tortured you was another. Orion stared down at him, his eyes wide, resigned, as tears spilled over the edges and dribbled down his face. He did not sob, did not blubber and beg and scream. He waited. 

 

Tom knew that he held that last bit of information, that last precious piece that could be the key to helping him to break Harry out of his hellish prison. Harry was hopelessly alone, and this was Tom’s only chance to gain the upper hand.

 

At what cost?

 

As Tom held the knife in his hands, he felt a strange hesitation tug at him. The memory of Harry’s eyes behind thick, round glasses blossomed clearly into focus. Harry would have never wanted him to act like this. The thought of those brilliant green eyes, looking at him, darkening in disappointment struck him as if it were a physical blow. 

 

Tom recoiled from Orion’s neck as if burned. His brow creased in confusion as he peered down at the knife in his hands and then to Orion as if seeing him for the first time. Orion watched him, willing himself to be silent, yet the hiss of breath escaping his lips was ferentic and panicked. It became clear to Tom, in this moment, the blade and the torture were preferable to what his father may do to him the moment he finds out what Orion had revealed.

 

Harry would not have done this.

 

Tom groaned, rolling his eyes as his internal bespeckled conscience made it very clear to him exactly what needed to be done. Reaching out, he grasped Orion’s cut hand. A moment passed and the temperature under Tom’s fingertips dropped as he concentrated his power. When he finally withdrew his hands, there was only a white scar left on Orion’s finger where the cut had been a seconds before.

 

The ropes around Orion slackened before dissipating in a swirl of dark smoke. Tom drew Orion’s wand out of the inner pocket of his robe and unceremoniously dumped it on his lap. Tom withdrew from the shaken boy and stepped neatly aside, focusing his gaze somewhere behind him, on the small pile of ashes that had started this entire debacle.

 

Orion was dumbfounded. He had not said a word since pleading with Tom to stop. Now that Tom had actually listened, he was at a loss as to what came next. He glanced around the room, expecting to be ambushed, or maybe the knife to drop out of the ceiling and stab him, or for Tom to whip around once again and finish the job. He was unable to hide his trembling, but his breathing gradually slowed.

 

“I presume your legs still work, do they not?” Tom said, his eyes still locked on the ashes.

 

The legs of the chair scraped as Orion got shakily to his feet. There was a pause, as if he could not help but question his good luck. Tom felt the boy’s eyes linger on his back.

 

“Why…?”

 

“Go home to your dear father, Orion.” Tom replied, his tone calm and measured as he toyed idly with the blade in his hands. “Tell him how good of a job you’ve done being his  _ delivery boy _ .” There was a moment of frigid silence between them. Tom did not need to look back to know that Orion was biting his tongue to keep himself from throwing back some scathing retort. “I will attend your party. I will play at your little game. And mark my words, Orion, I will win.”

 

Orion shuffled before deciding to make best of the situation and flee. He stumbled through the door of the dormitories.

 

No leads. No clues. No additional information. Without a doubt, Tom was headed to that party, and running headlong into the Lord Black’s scheme. He had never in his life been so ill prepared for anything. He even studied for school tests more than he knew what he was up against in this coming holiday gala. Yet he stood still, his eyes fixated on the pile of ashes.

 

_ Tom, don’t panic. I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry- _

 

Harry’s words echoed in his mind. That idiot! That stupid little fool! How many times had Tom warned him to watch out? How many times had he insisted that Lord Black was more devious than Harry was assuming at first glance? The man was as well connected as he was heartless. He hid more twisted magical objects in his underwear drawer than most pureblood families had in their entire estates. Tom had been right to keep himself on guard, but it seemed that his counterpart had not been half as careful.

 

_ Tom, don’t panic. I’ll be fine. _

 

He had been hoping to gain some kind of information, a sliver of a clue as to how to defeat this mad man, but he had let that possibility slip through his fingers. He cringed, remembering the look of fear in Orion’s eyes as he held the knife to his throat. It would have been all too easy to threaten the boy into giving him every bit of information he needed. All that was had to do was add just a bit of brutality and a taste of the suffering. On the other hand, did that not make him just the same as Lord Black then?

 

_ Tom, don’t panic. _

 

Tom had to remind himself to breath deeply, not concentrate on what he lacked, but what he had at his disposal. His magic, his intellect, his wits. He would need to make use of all of them in ample force to get Harry back. The party had already begun without him and he would need to make haste to catch up. 

 

Lord Black would be expecting him and if his assumptions were correct, his men would be waiting right outside school grounds to ‘collect’ him. Getting to the manor was not an issue. It was getting to Harry and getting them both home; that would be the true test. Tom glanced down at his pocket watch, giving it a frustrated little shake as the damn thing continued to show the wrong time. About the only thing it was good for these days was being a timer and he hadn’t the money to replace it.

 

Tom’s eyes widened just a fraction. 

 

The hint of a plan flickered at the edge of his despairing thoughts. He would be breaking the rules, breaking the law, and frankly, he might even be breaking any individuals opposed him. In the end, Harry was his family.

 

_ Tom… _

 

His grip tightened around the broken pocket watch as he began to prepare. _Don’t worry, Harry. I’m on my way._


	10. Just in Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited to announce that this is the first chapter written entirely by myself! It was a huge undertaking, seeing as this chapter is full of action and more than a few revelations. Being that this is my first time taking the reins fully, I would appreciate SO VERY MUCH if you could leave kudos and comments for me with feedback.
> 
> Do you like the story thus far? Are you excited for the future? What are you expecting to happen? What are you hoping will happen? Or, basically, anything else that's on your mind. I have reread your comments COUNTLESS times, over and over again. Your support keeps me going and keeps this story strong in my mind. First time commenters, repeating commenters, EVERY SORT OF COMMENTER is wonderful. :)
> 
> I need to let you all know that even when my life gets busy and crazy, I still come back to this story and it brings me some joy and solace. I hope it's doing the same for you. I love each and every one of you and I'm so grateful to have you along for this journey.
> 
> Also, I've got some big plans coming up for this story. Hang tight, you lovely individuals. You're in for a bumpy ride.

 

Tom’s escorts had been remarkably friendly upon meeting him outside of Hogwart’s gates, but Tom could tell that their good natured grace was only brought on by the orders that they were following. They had even complimented his neatly tied cravat and obsidian broach, along with his golden pocket watch. Perhaps it was their abundant willingness to try to put him at ease that instantly told Tom that these were not trustworthy individuals. He could almost see the glint behind their eyes of a secret they were not willing to share.

 

Generally, the Black estate sat proud and upright, far taller than wide, giving it the grand feeling of an aged cathedral. It loomed over the edge of a cliff-face, providing the ideal view as they mounted the granite stairs and made their way up to the ballroom level. 

 

_ Smart _ . Tom found himself looking at the soaring home as one might assess a fortress. While having it perched right beside the sea seemed like a wealthy, aesthetic choice, Tom could see past the glamour. It offered Lord Black a vantage point. It was the perfect spot to survey both the land and the sea, to get a good idea of what was happening on both fronts. Yet, if this was some kind of tactical fortress, Tom had to wonder what kind of war that Lord Black intended on fighting.

 

For now, Tom needed to concentrate. He could not allow himself the luxury of distraction. 

 

The illustrious Black Family Holiday Celebration was as grand as it was exclusive, which meant that anyone who was anyone was present and rubbing elbows with high society. The celebration itself lasted for days, or at least until all of the food and wine had been consumed, and all of the  _ pleasant _ company had become grating and trite. The corridors and main dancing hall were overflowing with warm conversation and even warmer bodies. Ministry members were fondly joking with pureblooded admirers as money exchanged hands and lined a few persuasive and powerful pockets.

 

Libations ran as freely as loyalties that night. Tom could almost smell the different schemes being cooked up all around him. Eyes followed after him when he entered the room. Veiled smiles and whispered words seemed to hover around him like a cloud.  _ Who was the good looking boy? What family is he from? Is he otherwise spoken for? What is his breeding? _

 

Tom smiled and powered onward. The last thing he needed was to garner more attention than he already had. It was strange that he attracted the eyes of so many different people, given that he was wearing secondhand dress robes that looked downright perfunctory next to the frilly and ornate fashions that his peers were sporting. The glances of admiration and envy seemed to follow after him regardless. Tom tried to clear his mind, keep his outward appearance pleasant and approachable while reviewing everything he had learned up until this point. How could he use this to his advantage?

 

When they reached the main ballroom, the two fairweather friends veered off, exchanging polite smiles with Tom. “Have a good time, Mr. Riddle. I hope you enjoy your evening.” 

 

“Likewise, Sirs.” Tom was quick to answer, waving them off. As he turned to enter into the grand ballroom, Tom had to bite back a gasp.

 

Splendid, dazzling, spectacular...it was almost as if Tom had walked into a dream. While momentarily blinded by the brilliance of the candles and the snowy white decor, he quickly found his bearings. The sharp scent of cinnamon and cloves rushed overwhelmed the senses as a rather tall house elf scurried by with a tray of spiced eggnog. A full string quartet played in the back, and Tom found himself amused with the sight of several of them drinking deeply as their floating instruments carried on without them. 

 

Pairs of dancers dotted the floor at an array of different skill levels. The young and daring swirled about, their brocade and ruffled fabric adding emphasis to a their graceful motions. The old and tired swayed to the music, enjoying the colorful melodies and the holiday cheer.

 

There was so much revelry, such an array of delights that Tom found himself speechless in the wake of it all. Though, that would not last for long. 

 

“Fancy seeing you here, Tommy boy!” 

 

“We’ve spoke before about you using that name, Dolohov.” 

 

The stout young man rounded the corner of a nearby dessert table. Tom did not even need to look, he already knew that his companion wore his usual Cheshire Cat grin. 

 

“But it’s so much more fun this way.” He said, shrugging. Dolohov wasted no time in stuffing a cannoli into his mouth, surveying the crowd by Tom’s side.

 

“I beg to differ.” Tom said, giving Dolohov an obvious look of disgust as he licked his fingers, relishing the sweet taste. 

 

“So, what are you doing here? Didn’t you say you were staying over holidays?”

 

He had. Tom reflected how easily the lie had come to him in the moment. It was far more simple just to tell his former accomplices that he needed extra time to study, or to practice wandless spells or wordless charms when he had been corresponding with Harry for the past half of a year now. Harry’s whole existence felt like some skillfully hidden bad habit that Tom just had no intention of explaining. Fear kept his companions from asking outright about the boy from the bookshop, but it would not keep those questions away indefinitely.

 

Tom had the growing sensation that those days of obscurity were rapidly coming to a close. He took his time, fishing around his brain for the proper answer to Dolohov when another voice chimed in from behind him.

 

“You’re here!” There was no mistaking that shrill, happy tone. Lestrange stumbled into view, marveling at Tom the second he joined the conversation. “Tom, I didn’t know you’d be here! You said you’d be-...Oh, it doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” He said, fussing with his own dress robes and making sure that the impeccable tailoring laid perfectly on his thin body. Lestrange gave him the kind of brilliant smile that most practice in front of a mirror to achieve.

 

“It’s good to see you as well, Lestrange.” There was a note of relief in Tom’s voice that he had not intended on. He cleared his throat, trying to keep himself as calm as possible.

 

“You know,” Lestrange said, taking a long sip of his drink before gesturing to the ballroom around them. “There’s something strange about this party. I’ve been to the Black family celebration every year, and it’s never been quite as extravagant as this.” He hissed. “Perhaps this is just some ploy to get people to believe he’s a reliable business partner?” 

 

“Or maybe he’s about to run for a ministry position?” Dolohov added, his eyes alight with interest as they tried to piece together this plot.

 

Tom stayed silent. His eyes narrowed in something more akin to confusion than annoyance as he tried to make out a small detail in the back of the gargantuan ballroom. There was a dark doorway, a threshold leading to a hallway beyond their view and obscured by shadow. Orion stood beside it, scanning the ballroom. There were only a hint of paleness left from their exchange a few hours preceding this, and he seemed intent on ignoring it as he concentrated.

 

Tom made rather educated guess that the Little Lord Black-in-training was on the lookout for him. He decided to make himself known before the Orion had the satisfaction of pulling him aside, unawares. This may be his last chance to set down his own little failsafe, after all. He gave the chandelier a precursory glance before he pulled his wand from his robes. With a smooth, flourish of movement, He sent a spray of  silver and gold sparks soaring up, nearly hitting the crystalline fixtures that dangled above his head. 

 

“What the hell?” Dolohov grunted, snapping his attention from the dazzling display back to Tom, who stood contentedly as the sparks popped and faded. There were several guests who muttered about the interruption and several more who applauded, assuming he was supposed to be some sort of entertainer, like the sparse orchestra sitting in the back.

 

The display had the desired effect though. Orion jumped to attention, spotting Tom in the back, his dark eyes glaring directly at him, a grim smirk playing at his lips. 

 

Both Dolohov and Lestrange had gone silent now, watching Tom with piqued interest as two other wizards emerged from the chatting crowds around them. They made their way hastily towards the trio as Lestrange and Black exchanged worried glances. “Tom, I think…”

 

“They’re on their way to collect me.” Tom said, his voice soft and casual. He waved fluidly at them as he deposited his wand back in his robe’s inner pocket. “It’s nothing to worry over, gentlemen. Please, enjoy the rest of your evening.” He gave them both an easy grin before withdrawing. Glancing at the chandelier one last time, he headed towards one of the rather irate looking wizards pushing through the crowd to collect him.

 

\-----

 

The hallway was not as dark or foreboding as it looked like from the ballroom. In fact, it was just as nice as the rest of the home, but the brilliance of the candles had cast shadows on the corridor beyond, making it seem far more grim than Tom had first assumed. Of course, his surroundings were not putting Tom at ease. The two wizards who escorted him back were not the same fairweather friends that had brought him to the manor from Hogwarts, and they made absolutely no attempt at small talk before they reached their destination. It was a power play, Tom realized. Lord Black was showing how far his influence reached, how much sway he held over so many different people. As of right now, it was working in his favor. Tom had no reason to deny Articus’ grand show of control.

 

With each passing step by the ornate overhangings and the weathered, aged tapestries, Tom felt as though the artwork was looming over him, waiting for his misstep. Darkness creeped into his vision, and all he could comprehend at that moment was how very much he was in over his head. How could he gain the upper hand against such odds? How could he save Harry?

 

_ Walk tall. Confidence is key. You will achieve this goal. _

 

Tom seemed to shift. In an instant, his back had straightened. He shot a venomous glare at his two escorts, his sharp eyes piercing through their heavy silence as they looked at him in shock. He powered forward, spotting the carefully carved wooden door before them and knowing, without a doubt, what he would find on the other end.

 

When he reached out and pushed the door open, Tom was not surprised. He fought to keep his anger from his pale face as he let his usual mask of haughty disinterest fall into place.

 

The first sight that greeted Tom’s eyes was Harry. He lay crumpled and unconscious on the floor against a shelf of books that seemed to tower all the way to the ceiling. Dried blood coated his lips and was caked on the side of his cheek. The tendons of his neck tightened, as if he were trying in vain to lift his head at the sound of an approaching individual. His eyes were closed behind cracked, round spectacles that had clearly seen better days.

 

For a moment, all that existed was Tom and Harry. The entire world around him froze and ceased to matter. He paused, holding himself in place, letting his eyes drink in every single detail of Harry’s barely conscious figure. Bruised face, mouth had bled, what may be a broken leg, if he could tell anything from the way Harry was currently laying down.

 

_ Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Focus. Remember, you will accomplish this. _

 

Tom tore his eyes away from Harry, finding the sight that greeted him was far less grim than he had expected. He had assumed Harry would have been held in some kind of dank dungeon, windowless and filthy, but his fears were at least partially unfounded. It seemed far more convenient for the Lord Black to keep him right here within the proximity of his study. Lord Black himself sat at the desk to his left, watching Tom with keen interest as a smile played at his thin lips. 

 

“Lord Black, what a pleasant surprise.” Tom said, feeling rather good at having stolen away the first word before the other man could jump in.

 

“Tom. It’s been too long, has it not?” He said, eying the boy from top to bottom, lingering on Tom’s cool, collected expression as if trying to pierce through it.

 

“A few may argue that it has not been nearly long enough.” Tom said.

 

“One cannot account for fools.” Lord Black lifted himself from his seat, raising his regal head high into the air to peer down his thin nose at the boy before him.

 

“Certainly not.” Tom agreed, getting a terrifyingly good vantage of the inner workings of Lord Black’s nostrils. He took a deep breath, calmly letting himself think of the best possible way to move forward with his request. 

 

“Now, Lord Black. I can see that you have taken custody of my companion here. On one hand, I understand your reasoning, and your anger, Sir, I must ask that you return him to me now.” Tom chose to start the conversation out with the most formal request he could manage. Polite and demanding, he gave the pureblooded man before him an arch look. “I can’t see the ministry taking kindly to such bold behavior on your part, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

Lord Black glared down at Tom, his dark eyes boring into Tom’s own. The stifling pause was so tense that Tom could hear his own heart thundering in his ears. A smile grew on Articus’ face, cracking the grim line of his frown into something sinister and foreboding.

 

“Tom, what did he make you vow?”

 

Tom felt as if ice had dropped directly into his stomach. He felt the chill of shock run directly up his spine, making the hair on his arms stand on end as he tried to make sense of it. He chanced a quick look at Harry, and could not help the thought that creeped into his head. Had he...told Lord Black? Had he revealed what happened this past summer? It couldn’t be possible.

 

“No, not your filthy companion, Tom. I have my ways of knowing.” Lord Black sneered, following Tom’s train of thought. There was a grim determination that burned within his eyes as he slowly began to step around his heavy, wooden desk.

 

“Sir, I’m afraid I’m rather confused. I have no idea what you’re speaking about.” Said Tom, his voice as smooth and comforting as silk. “Now, if we can just discuss your release of this unfortunate, young individual.” 

 

“I have proof, you imbecile.” Lord Black hissed, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he rounded the corner to the front of his desk and watched in amusement as Tom flinched at the sudden insult flung in his direction. “You forget how much my power extends, Tom. That was always a major fault on your part, you underestimate the reach of your enemy.”

 

This, of course, is a blatant mistruth, but Tom’s thoughts were too chaotic to even attempt a proper witty comeback.

 

“You see, most people don’t really take note of any unseemly happenings around Knockturn Alley.” Lord Black began, gesturing smoothly with a gloved hand. “But, as you well know, that is where some rather fruitful business expenditures can take place. You can find anything you may desire, as long as you know the right people and have the galleons to spend. I do some trading myself there from time to time, when I’m feeling particularly advantageous.” 

 

Lord Black motion to the threshold of another doorway, located right behind his ornate desk. As if waiting for cue, two figures ambled out of the darkness and made their way into the splendor of the study, looking like two dark splotches in comparison to their brilliant, immaculate surroundings. Tom had trouble telling exactly who they were, but he knew that he could smell them far before he saw them.

 

One of them looked up at Tom directly and before he even had the chance to open his mouth and respond, the man erupted in a triumphant cry. “That’s him alright! That’s the boy! The one tied to the chair, like I said before!” The man’s eyes were wide, mad, and his thin, gaunt face smiled widely with vindication. Tom’s brow creased in frustration. The sight of the man seemed so familiar, but there was something that did not quite click within Tom’s mind until he locked eyes with him directly. There was a moment of suspended silence while Tom’s brow creased in perplexed silence, perflecting masking any shock that may have otherwise crossed his sharp features.

 

This man...he was the one that cast the unbreakable vow. It had been months now since that moment, but there was no mistaking the ruddy cheeks, the dark eyes or the gaunt face of the man before him. Tom remembered the night as if it were a fever dream, swimming back to him among a myriad of memories that he would rather have left as far in the past as possible. 

 

Tom heard a noise behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted Harry shifting on the floor behind him, making slow and careful efforts to lift himself up. Arching his back from where he lay on the floor, he spotted Tom looking down at him, his face utterly unreadable. Trying to speak, he tried to say several words before he realized that he was making no sound at all. Clutching at his throat, he shook his head, shocked and dismayed.

 

“We know what he’s done to you, Tom.” Lord Black chimed in, drawing Tom’s attention back to the present and away from the silent prisoner. Truth be told, with all this excitement, Tom had nearly forgotten that his grim host was right there with them.

 

“And what is that, pray tell?” Tom said.

 

Lord Black fixed him with a piercing glare, his eyes fixed on the boy before him, assessing every muscle twitch, every minute reaction, every intake of air as if digging for some kind of ground to stand on. “He’s forced you into an unbreakable vow.” 

 

Heavy silence fell. Tom stood motionless as the grave.

 

“He entered Knockturn Alley sometime during the middle of the summer months. Miss Makenzie Murray was so kind as to provide us with that information. She spotted the scum rushing about, looking like a damned tramp.” He cast a searing look at Harry. “She spotted him run into poor Mr. Lewis Tate here.” He gestured encouragingly to the ragged looking duo. 

 

Mr. Tate peered from Harry to Tom, his gaze wide, angering lingering on the edge of his deep scowl. “That damned bloke must have cast Imperio on me, but for the life of me, I can’t remember.”

 

“I spotted him boggling up your memories when the both of you returned half a hour later.” Miss Murray added with a nod of confirmation, glowering down at Harry on the floor.

 

“And, Mr. Tate, what is it that you do remember after we...aided you with unraveling messy bit of spellwork that this heathen imposed on you?” Lord Black said, still looking directly at Tom.

 

Mr. Tate’s eyebrows drew together on his greasy forehead as he ran his hand through his hair, as if digging through his own head for the elusive memory. “He...made this boy promise something.”

 

“And…?” Lord Black pressed.

 

“He marked him. On his arm, right under his elbow there’s a little mark.” He squinted, as if trying to see something too far away from him. He gestured vaguely with his left arm on the spot where Tom knew the scar was. “I couldn’t for the life of me tell you why he did it.” 

 

“That’s quite enough, Mr. Tate. I thank you for your service. You’ll be rewarded handsomely for the noble work you’ve accomplished here.” Lord Black gave him a significant look before jerking his head back to the door behind them. Apparently, that was about all that the lord of the manor could stand of the ragged duo before sending them away for good.

 

Mr. Tate licked his lips greedily and without a second glance, headed back for the door. Miss Murray was quick to follow after, giving Tom a weary, appraising glance before departing. Tom did not notice. His eyes were locked on Lord Black in much the same way as Lord Black seemed set on watching Tom for even the slightest error, the hint of weakness, a tremor that would give his thoughts away.

 

Tom could hear Harry behind him, shuffling on the floor as if trying to get to his feet. He was breathing heavily now.

 

“Now, Tom, let us review what we know.” Lord Black began, his tone simple as he began to step around his desk to face Tom directly. “There was an incident in early summer that involved both you and this heathen.”  He gestured to Harry, which gave Tom the necessary excuse to glance back. Harry was on his feet now, but just barely. He trembled, leaning to one side as if his leg had been harmed, his healthy tan skin had darkened into a sickly shade of grey, and his normally messy hair stuck out in odd angles, matted against his head. His broken glasses barely hung on his nose.

 

He mouthed Tom’s name.

 

“According to Miss Murray, she saw the man around Knockturn Alley. He took control of Mr. Tate and disappeared for a length of time. When he returned, he seemed to have  _ sloppily _ tampered with Mr. Tate’s memories. A rush job is never advisable when dealing with the mind, boy.” Lord Black chided, a smile growing on his face as he pointed an admonishing finger at Harry.

 

Tom’s gaze did not falter from Lord Black, but he could feel Harry’s eyes locked on his back.

 

“With just a bit of help in restoring those tampered memories, Mr. Tate was able to get a general idea of what transpired between you and the man behind you, Tom. The most strange and perplexing of these claims seems to be that he forced you to make an Unbreakable Vow of sorts. Is that right?” 

 

Tom stayed carefully silent.

 

“Well, Tom, if that is the case, you do know that the entire vow is nullified,  _ don’t you _ ?”

 

Tom’s eyes narrowed.

 

Lord Black let the words settle between them, savoring the moment as if he had been expecting this all along, and victory had never tasted so sweet. “Oh, dear boy. Of course you would not be aware. Unbreakable Vows are extremely powerful, yes, and binding, of course. But they must be  _ consensual _ . This is why they’re required for marriages in the proper, wizarding custom. It ensures that all parties consent to the union.” He said, stepping forward, his leather boots making an indent on the impeccable oriental rug beneath them. He touched Tom lightly on the shoulder, his thin mouth drawn into a pitying frown. “It’s understandable that one in your regrettable upbringing may have never been taught such things.” 

 

Tom watched as Lord Black’s hand skimmed down the length of his arm, settling on his wrist before drawing the sleeve of his robes up above the elbow. The small, lightning bolt shaped scar stood out from his pale skin, pale purple against porcelain white. Black nodded, a glimmer of triumph in his dark eyes.

 

“So, it is true then, isn’t it?” Lord Black hissed. “Then, this news must be welcome to you, Tom. Everything you had supposedly been bound to was a lie. You’re entirely free to do as you wish.”

 

Tom turned slowly to look at Harry.

 

Harry had propped himself up on the wall now, his glasses nearly falling from his bruised face. His eyes were wide and blank. He had long since stopped trying to talk, knowing the futility of it, and had settled into a shocked silence. He peered up at Tom with those brilliant green eyes, his focus unblinking, though he trembled as the information sank in slowly. It had been only one little, insignificant detail. One tiny, miniscule aspect of a spell of a spell neither of them had entirely understood. It had meant everything for Harry’s plan and now Tom was completely free to do as he wished, without repercussions, without consequence.

 

“Lord Black.” Tom said, articulating the words as if his thoughts were still completely wrapping their way around the revelations. “The events of this past summer were...” 

 

Tom’s words hung in the air, and despite the comfortable warmth of Lord Black’s study, there was a controlled hesitation in Tom’s voice. He drew out his thoughts, keeping his audience captive for as long as his breath would allow, all while keeping that deadly focus directly on target.

 

“...so horrifying.” Tom finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

Harry faltered, slumping against the wall as if he had been physically struck.

 

“I have never through so many terrifying experiences in my life.” He continued, undeterred. “I have never been so uncomfortable, so uncertain, so  _ afraid _ of what my future was in the custody of this mad man.” Tom slipped his arm from Lord Black’s grasp, his eyes still locked on Harry, his gaze cold and hard.

 

“You have his wand, I presume?” Tom said, expectation heavy in his tone.

 

Lord Black seemed all too pleased with this turn of events, willing to draw the long thin holly wand from the inside pocket of his robes. He handed it over to Tom with a flourish. Without hesitation, Tom turned to Harry once again. He slid down the wall, as if being slowly crushed under the weight of Tom’s glare. For the first time, Harry sat, transfixed by the sight of Tom slowly lifting up the wand before him, pinched delicately in his slender, elegant fingers.

 

Before he snapped it in half.

 

Harry’s watched, hypnotized, as the halves clattered to the floor before him. Somewhere behind them, Lord Black was laughing. Neither of the two boys cared enough to turn and notice. 

 

“Did you think you could control me? Or better yet, change me?  _ Oh, Harry. You foolish boy. _ ” That cold, cruel smile in his voice was all too familiar to Harry. It was the same unfeeling smile that haunted his dreams night after night. Tom stepped nearer to him as Lord Black watched the approach, a glimmer of hunger in his dark eyes. But it was the tone of voice that seemed linger in the air long after the words were silenced. The musicality, the good humor and charisma which Tom had in droves seemed all but forgotten as this new, hollow tone echoed from deep within him. 

 

Harry tasted a tang of blood in his mouth, feeling it slip down his throat as he tried to get his voice to function again, knowing it was futile all the while. What could he say? What could he possibly do to preserve everything he had worked so very hard to hold together? As he gazed up into those dark, unfeeling eyes, beyond the blur of his broken glasses, Harry knew that the world was falling apart around him.

 

Tom was a mere step away now. He lowered himself down to Harry’s eye level, kneeling beside him. With a careful, leisurely ease, Tom reached into his robes and drew out his own wand now. The broken bits of Harry’s own wand still lay on the ground behind them, a flicker of a red feather peeking out from each broken end. Harry almost found himself screaming at the irony of it all. He had tried so hard, so very hard to change what happened and save the future of this world. Now as he peered back into Tom’s eyes he found nothing but the severe reality of what was to come. 

 

“Harry, I’m going to teach you a very valuable lesson.” He whispered, calm and collected. His fingertips of his hand trailed lightly along Harry’s broken arm, causing him to wince involuntarily. “A very important lesson. It may very well be the last lesson you ever learn, Harry.” He leaned in close, their faces mere inches away now as Tom’s hand settled on the bare skin of his neck. “I’m going to teach you how to…” He trailed, letting words hang between them, caught in the web of memories that were flashing before Harry’s eyes before the end. At least if now was the time, he could die knowing he did everything he possibly could to make things right. 

 

“Escape.” 

 

The sound of a sharp crack filled Harry’s mind and the world seemed to press in on him from all sides. Behind them, Lord Black’s smile faltered as the world seemed to move in slow motion behind them before everything hastily faded to black. All that seemed to exist was Tom’s boyish glimmer of triumph and the vice-like grip on his arm and shoulder as the world squeezed in around him. Everything faded to black.

 

\-----

 

The smooth, cool sensation of the ballroom floor against Tom’s cheek was calming for the entirety of one second before he realized exactly what had gone wrong. Coincidentally, that was the exact moment that screams erupted from all of the dancers on the floor as they scattered away from him.  

 

Everything had been going according to plan. Every little bit of improvisation, every hint of anger, every inch of motion had been leading up to this moment and now everything had gone to-

 

“ **Shit** .” 

 

Tom cursed under his breath, gripping at Harry’s torn shirt as they sat in the middle of the ballroom dance floor. Shrieks continued to erupt all around them, cries of anger and surprise echoed throughout. The music came to a clumsy halt, as a few of the quartet members who were not paying attention continued on with their harmonies before realizing that the entire room had abandoned the main event. The servants stared, mouths agape as a mob of foppish dandies and primped princesses tripped over themselves to get away from two figures. Tom tried to shift his grip and hoist Harry up again but after a grunt of effort that amounted to nothing, he ended up easing the injured boy to the ground. 

 

“T-Tom?” Harry panted, blinking blearily behind his cracked glasses. “What happened?” Tom peered down at him for only the briefest of moments before scanning the room.

 

“No time to explain.” Tom hissed. “Plan A failed because that bastard knew that I would try to apparate away. His guarding wards, they must lead directly back here.” Tom trailed, still gripping tightly to Harry’s arm as if the man might slip away from him at any moment.

 

“But, back in Lord Black’s room-“ Harry bit back the rest of his words as a shriek echoed about the ballroom. The familiar clacking of stiff, polished leather boots against the pristine floors resounded and before Tom even turned around, he knew exactly who he was facing.

 

“Lord Black.” Tom greeted, giving him a polite little nod and a dazzling smile, perfectly hiding the way his hand was shaking. “Two encounters in one night. I must be a lucky man.” 

 

“Imbecile!” Black did not need to scream to command the attention of the room. Tom had to admit that the way that the entire party fell deathly silent was uncanny, but it would take a great deal more than a threatening tone to throw Tom off. “Riddle, did you really think that you could snap your way out of here that easily?”

 

“I thought I had overstayed my welcome, Sir. Certainly, you understand.” Tom said, his mild tones the definition of politeness. In times such as these, it was best to try to gain an exit as soon as possible. There was no way that Tom would be able to duel his way out of this grand place, surrounded as it was by Black’s hired hands. He glanced down at the dazed Harry who could barely lift himself up from the floor, and tried not to think too hard of the consequences should he fail.

 

Tom gripped the broken pocket watch so hard that it left a mean indent on his palm. On the bright side, the tinge of pain kept him sharp.

 

“I had planned on leaving with my companion here, Sir.”

 

“Oh believe me, Tom. That much was remarkably clear.” This time, Lord Black’s careful, cold tone had an edge of rage that snipped at the edges of his words. “The only question that remains is  _ why _ ?” He shouted the last word, throwing it at Tom as if it were a physical blow. “You have no ties to this filthy vagrant, as I proved to you before. All you need to do is leave him behind!”

 

The demand was harsh, deliberately loud enough to echo against the stone walls and ring discordant tones about the entire room. The party may not have understood the entirety of what was happening, but they could certainly tell that something had gone horribly wrong. The candlelight of the holiday decorations flickered in the dying light of the room, casting shadows on powdered faces and perfectly coffered haircuts. Wide eyes watched the unexpected events unfold in the center of this pristine winter wonderland as the illusion of snow drifted gracefully from the ceiling.

 

Tom gripped on to Harry’s arm even harder now, leaving deep bruises where his thin fingers clung to him. His hand trembled, but he was quick to hide it behind his back as he spoke, denying any of the fear that might have broken a lesser man. He stood straight, facing Articus directly and finding that his opponent was no longer alone. He was flanked by none other than Lord Malfoy and a few other rather stocky looking wizards. They all formed an unbroken line of grim scowls and seething glares at the two young boys.

 

“Sir, I was not lying to you when I said that this past summer had been a horrifying experience.” Tom said, letting his fingertips linger on the spot where that tiny little lightning bolt was burned into his arm. “Harry was not horrifying, nor was anything he really did to me. He acted as a guardian of sorts as I came to terms with the truth of matter.” 

 

“Truth of the matter?” Lord Black repeated between clenched teeth.

 

Tom held his breath, peering around the room. The words he needed to say were just at the tip of his tongue, but opening himself up and speaking them meant that he would give the fact credence, and before all of these men and women of status, that would be suicide. Glancing about the room, he caught the glance of young Lestrange and Dolohov as they awkwardly pushed their way to the front of the crowd. Lestrange quickly righted his immaculate robes while Dolohov’s teeth were clenched in a grimace of confusion and panic. He peered down at Harry as he tried desperately to sit up once again and face his enemies as he always had, head on.

 

There was a choice to make. He could lie again. He could fall back into the comfortable control of a world that he had become accustomed to, a world that he easily wormed his way into and controlled from the shadows, like the polite, beautiful, brilliant little boy he was. He could fall in with his old friends and forget that this summer had ever happened, that Harry had ever happened. If he were to so much as whisper a word of dissent against his ‘kidnapper’, there would be nothing keeping Harry from jail. No unbreakable vows, no consequences, nothing at all that would stand in the way of his goals. That perpetual need to survive tugged at him. That hunger for more still burned and writhed within him, begging him to see logic, to consider the possibility. Immortality was at his fingertips. The mere memory his plots still called to him, an echo of a dream he thought lost until this moment. In this brief second, Tom could think of absolutely nothing else.

 

And then that second passed. The words came to Tom’s lips before he could hold them back.

 

“The matter of my birth, Sir. My father is a muggle.” 

 

Lord Black’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open as if stopped in mid-thought. The silence that followed was deafening, so thick that Tom fancied he could even hear the soft tinkle of crystal on the chandelier above them. All at once, he felt the weight of the world slip from his shoulders. He glanced down at Harry, caught in that slight moment of panic between the bomb dropping and exploding. The look of pride he found in those brilliant green eyes was more than enough to fuel the fire within him.

 

All of that hunger and drive solidified, and Tom found himself forgetting his previous goals and sharpening it into a weapon far more suited to what he needed right now.

 

As if on cue, Lord Black finally found his voice. “You’re a filthy half-blood?” 

 

“Half-blood, yes. Filthy? Absolutely not. Sir, I shower daily, thank you very much.” Tom said, earning a few tittering laughs from the shell-shocked audience, and a snort from Harry. “You see, Sir, the circumstances of my parentage are quite complicated, but this young man here,” Tom said, patting Harry’s shoulder lightly as he lay on the floor, still collecting himself. “He was kind enough to explain them to me in full detail. And, might I add, he helped me to come to terms with them to a certain extent.” Tom said, tapping his chin lightly, his other hand remarkably close to the inside pocket of his dress robes, ready to draw out his weapon again at a moment’s notice.

 

“I don’t understand.”  Lord Black said through gritted teeth, the veins of his neck now popping out dangerously as he tried to keep his emotions to the usual calm and collected facade he had become so accustomed to.

 

“You’re not meant to.” Tom said with an easy smile, his dark eyes sharp with a glare. “The information is mine, and mine alone. You’ve forced it out of me, like the monster that you are, but regardless I’m here to collect my friend and be done with it, Sir.” 

 

“Excuse me?” Lord Black growled.

 

“You heard me loud and clear, Sir.” Tom shot back, the edge of a warning in his tone as he stood tall and imposing, dark and brooding even next to the daunting figure of Lord Black. “I’m leaving now. I have collected my companion from your custody and I will now depart. I wish I could say that it has been a lovely evening, but I’m afraid it has been abysmal...with the exception of the food. I’m sure the food was great.” Tom gave him a polite smile and turned to hoist Harry up from the ground.

 

“Hold it!” Black cried. “How dare you deceive me, boy! Apologize for what you-“

 

“There are many things I’m sorry for, Sir. I’m sorry that I misunderstood my own bloodline, and found out far too late about the true nature of it all. I’m sorry that mistakenly deceived my own friends. I’m sorry that led so many people to believe I am something that I am really not.” Tom breathed, lost, his voice becoming faraway as he glanced about the room, quickly finding the terrified expressions of Lestrange and Dolohov among the countless individuals crowding about the now nearly empty dance floor, save for Lord Black and himself. “But I am certainly not sorry for what I am, Lord Black.” Tom pressed onward, taking a defiant step forward. “I am a true Slytherin to the core, despite what you may think about my purity and my worthiness. As all of you know, we are so much more than just purity.”

 

Tom gestured to the crowd, looking to them imploringly. “It’s tradition and knowledge. It’s respect for the customs of old while knowing how to apply it here and now. It’s intuitiveness, it’s craftiness, it’s cunning and ambition just as much as it is solidarity and understanding.” Tom paused, letting his words sink in as the audience followed along, spellbound. 

 

“All of you, every last one of you is so much more than your blood status. You are not successful just because of your family line, but for who you are and the magic you are capable of making a reality.”

 

The words had tumbled out of him before he realized he was speaking. He stood before an audience of perplexed faces, letting reality settle in. He had been speaking truly. His heart was pounding against his rib cage as he looked for some sign, some notion that he would be alright. Usually, telling the truth was followed by angry words or a reprimand in his youth. In his teen years, he would become more adept at twisting and bending the truth to his will, but now as he stood before the largest, most powerful crowd of magic users he had ever encountered, he had spouted off the absolute, unfiltered truth without hesitation and found that it resonated so deeply within him that even he was shocked into silence.

 

One lonely clap rang out in the ballroom. For one fleeting moment, Tom thought that the party guests had mistaken this entire fiasco as some kind of twisted form of paid entertainment, but his heart sank as his eyes focused once again on Lord Black. There was a crooked grin on his pale face as he brought his dry hands together, again and again. The echoes around the cavernous room multiplied his applause and as it grew in strength, the crescendo made it feel as though Tom was surrounded. The snide laughter that followed cut even deeper, ringing even louder.

 

“What a lovely speech, Riddle. But, I fail to see exactly how this answers my question, you filthy little half blood.” He said, his voice a deadly, soft calm. It struck Tom as strange to hear him this way when the emotions within the ballroom were ready to explode in a frenzy. “How dare you trick me into believing you’re something that you’re not. You’re useless to me now, you damned imbecile.” He hissed, his eyes narrowing as he peered at Tom down the bridge of his nose, his hand flicking the wand out of his pocket with an easy grace.

 

Tom gulped hard, steeling himself for the consequences as he drew forth his own wand. There was no other choice. Plan B would have to do.

 

“There is one thing that I really must apologize to you for, Sir.” Tom began, backing away from his vantage in the middle of the dance floor, rejoining Harry just as he was easing himself from his bruised knees back up to his unsteady feet. 

 

“Only one?” Black snapped back at him, advancing forward and wasting no time with pleasantries of a formal duel as his lips curled into a scowl.

 

“Yes. I really am so sorry, Lord Black...about your chandelier.” Tom gave him a winsome smile and snapped his fingers. There was a breath of a moment where Tom waited with bated breath, hoping against all odds that his spell from earlier that evening had worked. 

 

When he heard a small pop of confirmation and felt a small shower of gold and silver sparks fly from the top hint of the ceiling, the smile grew just a fraction. 

 

“What are you do-“ Lord Black’s words were cut off by a stream of silver and gold showering down from above and fading quickly into the air. The roof creaked, and the chain holding up the chandelier trembled dangerously. Tom glanced at Orion, nodding for him to retreat and a note of realization dawned on his face. That moment that Tom had set off sparks earlier in the evening, it seemed all too familiar to the ones that had just erupted above them. With a gasp of horror, he stumbled away from his father and jetted into the crowd. 

 

Tom was already tugging at Harry’s arm, yanking him backward with a choked grunt of effort before the entire glass and crystal structure flickered dangerously as it trembled. It leaned precariously to one side, and with a twang and a snap, the ropes and chains supporting the structure broke. The chandelier came careening down, directly above the dance floor, the crystal fissures whistling in the air as it descended. With a gasp of horror, Lord Black flung himself out of the way, just in time to avoid being crushed.

 

The crunch of shattered glass filled the room as the chandelier met the floor. The sound was unforgettable. A thousand tiny bells, a discordant symphony of broken crystal surrounded them as they shattered on impact. The candles flickered and dimmed at the force. Tom darted across the floorboards of the ruined dance floor, hefting Harry after him, whose dumbfounded gaping had given way to the silence that came with grim understanding. Lord Black had started this battle, expecting Tom to rise to the occasion and face him head on. Strangely enough, Lord Black had forgotten the most important aspect of being a Slytherin,  _ cunning _ . Tom had no intention of fighting an outnumbered battle.

 

Harry clung to Tom’s arm to get himself on his feet. This catastrophic distraction provided the perfect cover.  As Tom gazed out at the entirety assembly, there was no doubt in his mind that the attention had been diverted. Several of Lord Black’s cronies were tripping over themselves to help their leader up from the floor as he lay among the shattered crystal and the ruins of his beautiful centerpiece. Several of the party patrons had fainted in shock, and several more had faked fainting in shock just so that they could fall dramatically to the floor. An entire crowd of children screamed in joy, clapping and cheering at the marvelous display, they had never seen such an entertaining night.

 

All the while, Harry was staggering along beside Tom, trying his damnedest to put weight on his twisted leg as they hurried off of the ballroom floor. 

 

“Don’t you DARE let them escape!” Tom heard Black roar behind him. He glanced down at the broken pocket watch and bit his lip, his grip on Harry tightening as his eyes focused on the simple watch face before shoving it back in his robes. 

 

Thirty seconds. That was all they needed.

 

There was a group of at least five guards that seemingly materialized out of nowhere. They moved as one, analogous, intimidating crew, striding forward with a confident swagger that told more about their fighting style than the way they held their wands. Tom shot them a venomous glare, wasting no time in jerking out his wand once again. Harry slumped down on his shoulder as he concentrated his efforts on the impending attack. Out in the open as he was there was very little protection he could leap behind, and even less that he could reach with Harry being as battered as he was.

 

“Accio.” Tom whispered, giving his wand a violent little twitch. One of the monstrous dining tables which stood around the vast room leapt up from its spot. Food, drinks, cutlery and porcelain clattered to the ground with another, much less booming crash as the table rolled out and flung itself in the direction of their attackers, knocking over three of them before clattering to the floor with a wooden thunk. There were several cries of anger and distress, and one dumbfounded look from a stout man whose dinner had been yanked away from right beneath his nose. 

 

Tom had not even waited to see the effects before he hoisted Harry up once again and began to make his way to the entrance, neither knowing nor caring for the effects. They were close, they were so very close. Only twenty five seconds now…

 

Orion sped towards Tom from the entrance hall, his eyes wide and wild with the only kind of adrenaline high that made the senses more keen and less trustworthy. There was a wand in his hand, but he did not raise it against Tom. Tom’s eyes narrowed, accepting whatever dangerous challenge that Orion threatened to become. He could feel Harry shift to his side, trying desperately to stand on his twisted leg. 

 

“There’s a dozen or so more coming this way.” Orion’s voice was caught somewhere between a shout and a whisper, careful of letting others around them hear, yet all too aware that time was of the essence. 

 

Tom’s glare did not falter. If anything, it seemed to become more heated as he watched the other boy breathlessly explain. “Fine!” He snapped. “I’ll find another way.”

 

“Not so fast, you filthy monster.” Lord Black was making his way from the wreckage of his priceless chandelier, blood trickling from a few cosmetic wounds on the face and hands. His wand was held aloft and pointed directly at Tom and Harry. There was a fire in his eyes that Tom had never seen before, and he did not intend on sticking around to figure out exactly what it meant. 

 

Only twenty more seconds. They could make it.

 

Harry shoved at Tom, knocking them both down and out of the way of two oncoming spells. Lord Black cursed loudly as they exploded against the stone wall behind them, searing into the tapestries and holiday garland. Tom grabbed Harry by the wrist and pulled him onward. 

 

“Well, Harry, I had a really wonderful Plan A.” Tom said, knocking a few curses aside with a well timed shielding charm. “But, as you can see, it’s all gone slightly amiss.” With one last flourish of his wand, Tom sent a few bits of pine wreaths hanging on the walls to wrap themselves around a guard or two.

 

“Do you have a Plan B?” Harry wheezed, trying to keep up as Tom dragged him away from the heat of the battle. The screams around the ballroom intensified as Lord Black guards began to circle in on them, nearer and nearer until Tom could even make out the sneers of delight on their faces.

 

“You’re not going to like Plan B.” Tom said.

 

“Better than the alternative, I think.”  Harry said with a half grin, nodding to the snarl of rage that was distorting Lord Black’s face as he gestured to them violently. 

 

Fifteen more seconds. They were going to have to cut this dangerously close.

 

They were quickly being closed into a corner now, trapped before the work of art that was the stained glass window Tom had noticed when he had entered. He held Harry tight to his side, as if knowing that the other boy could not stand on his own. He surveyed their opponents, his cold, collect glare far too calm for the moment that they were trapped in.

 

“It’s over now. You’ve ruined your entire future, boy.” Lord Black stepped up to their group of attackers, his eyes locked on Tom, narrowing in a deadly challenge.

 

“It’s a future you had planned for me, Sir. I’m not really certain I had wanted it anyway.” Tom waved his hand, as if casually swatting away noxious fumes, but Harry knew better. The hand that was gripping his arm tightly was now trembling. 

 

Ten seconds. They had to survive. They just had to  _ survive _ .

 

“Such impudence!” Lord Black bellowed. His mouth twisted as the spell came to his lips. Tom didn’t bother listening to the words before the pain erupted all over his body, stemming from his chest and spidering out to his limbs, causing them to seize up even as he gripped at that pocket watch in his robes. He and Harry had been flung backward at the sheer force of it and before Tom could even try to catch his footing and stop them both, he felt the cold, cool exterior of the glass against his back. He felt it buckle, and with a sickening crack, completely give way.

 

One moment, Tom had his eyes closed, locking his arms around Harry as they were both knocked backwards. Tom opened his eyes, falling back and marveling at the fact that time seemed to have slowed for their descent. They had fallen directly into a cloud of colored shards. Red, green, yellow and blue bits of multifaceted glass floated all about them, glimmering in the warm light of the ballroom, casting strange colors on the wooden floorboards beneath them as Tom could feel himself and Harry falling back. Further, further, and even further until he could feel the rush of cold night air against his cheek. The unthinkable had happened. There was no escape.

 

“Tom!” Harry screamed, but his words were lost to the rush of icy, ocean air as the waves crashed just below them. Tom closed his eyes, his heart hammering in his ears. One arm was firmly wrapped around Harry, the other hand was keeping his pocket watch in a crushing grip

 

Five more seconds. He could do it this time. If only he tried harder. 

 

Harry bit back the scream of terror as they fell, snapping his eyes shut tight and awaiting impact, but the pain of the rocks below never seemed to reach him. The rush of wind seemed to fade away so that only the roar of the sea remained. There was something in the air pressure that shifted. Harry blinked blearily behind his broken glasses, still clinging to Tom, but something unnamable had changed in a matter of seconds. He glanced up at Tom, not even knowing how to word the question before realization dawned on him. 

 

They were no longer falling. They hovered fifty feet above the hungry waves and jagged rocks below them. Tom’s grip on him had become impossibly tight, and even in the breathtaking chill of the winter’s night air, there was sweat dripping down his face. He bit his lip, trembling as he clung to Harry. 

 

“We’re flying.” Harry breathed. Tom whimpered, agonized, his face turning ashen, trembling violently now as he clung to Harry.

 

Three, two, ... _one_.

 

Tom spotted Harry looking up at him, those wide green eyes concerned, terrified, and just a touch amazed. He felt the telltale sensation, as if someone had hooked his body, stemming from just behind his navel. Before the press of traveling through time and space settled in around him, he hugged Harry to close and felt himself being spirited away one more time.


	11. A Rather Messy Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been quite a while since my last update, and I really need to thank all of you for hanging in there and waiting for me. I know I left you on quite the cliff-hanger (literally) last time I updated, so I hope I made this well worth your patience. 
> 
> Please, please, please, please leave comments and kudos! I treasure and value every single one that I receive, and I really do go back to them from time to time to cheer myself up and keep myself motivated to write this story. Every single one of you is so incredible and I'm honored to have you following along with this story that's been simmering in the back of my brain. :)
> 
> Also, just as an extra little something, if there are any bits of music or pieces of artwork that remind you of this story and the characters, please link them in the comments! I'd love to know your thoughts about the characters and where the storyline is headed. We still have quite a few loose ends to tie up and I'm hoping to surprise and delight you as much as I possibly can. 
> 
> Take care, you beautiful, brilliant readers! I'll be back with more updates soon. :)

With a pop that sounded more like a gunshot, Harry and Tom tumbled out on to the floor of the entranceway to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The sheer force of the portkey sent out a shockwave that Tom had not been expecting. They collapsed, crumbling in a heap on to the cold granite floor. Tom wheezed in pain, trying to keep his voice low after the racket that echoed down the stone hallways all around them. Closing his eyes tightly, he willed the world to stop spinning and forced himself to stay awake. His entire body ached and his chest burned, not to mention the force of his ‘flying ability’ leaving a lasting strain on his equilibrium. The hall spun around him, and he heard the telltale, bell-like ringing of gemstones on glass. Blinking blearily, he took a moment to glance over at the house point hourglasses.

 

Slytherin’s emeralds were slowly trickling out on to the cold floors through a sizable crack in the glass.

 

_It just had to be Slytherin, didn’t it?_

 

Tom heard Harry’s labored breathing, gulping down air through his teeth as if biting back a cry of pain. Finally able to shift his body, Tom pulled himself to his knees, turning to the place he had heard the hissing breaths and pained moans.

 

“Harry?” He asked, searching about in the darkness of the hall and, for once, grateful for the moonlight pouring in through the windows and pooling all around them, glittering off of the growing pile of emeralds littering the area. Harry’s body lay crumpled not a few feet away from his own, curled up on itself as the young man shivered in place. Had the fall hurt him? Tom knew he certainly was still reeling from the effects of vertigo and adrenaline. His hands trembled, his tongue felt like a lead weight in his mouth, all the while the world around them refused to stand still and let him function.

 

“Harry.” Tom repeated, trying to get his attention. The relief he had felt wash over him from arriving here in one piece began to ebb away as he grabbed at Harry’s shoulder and turned the boy over.

 

Pale. It struck Tom immediately exactly how pale the other boy had become. His normally tan skin had faded into an ashen gray. His jaw clenched shut as if holding back some kind of scream. With a pained moan, Harry instinctively tried to turn his face away from Tom.

 

What exactly had happened to him back at that damned mansion? What had Lord Black done to him? Tom felt anger bubble beneath the surface, barely kept in check as his patience continued to dwindle.

 

Tom forced himself to focus. He had been well aware that this sort of possibility and had planned ahead. It had been his entire reason for choosing the school as his secondary destination for his ‘unplanned and technically illegal’ portkey. Hogwarts would have all of the medical tonics and magical antidotes he might need if Harry happened to be in this sort of state.

 

“Alright, Harry. We’re going to get you fixed up.” Tom gripped Harry by his arm and hoisted him over his shoulders, wrapping his own arm around Harry’s torso to keep him safely anchored to his side. With a pained grunt, he made an earnest attempt to hoist the other boy up.

 

And failed.

 

He stumbled, the hall spinning around him as his body ached from the magic and the energy he had expended on the grand escape. He pitching forward and feeling a searing heat across his arms and chest. “Damn it all.” He cursed under his breath, feeling his exhaustion eating away at his self control. He tried a second time, a ragged groan of frustration escaping him as his legs buckled under the limp weight of a whole other human being.

 

“Harry, I swear if you die on me after all this, I’ll kill you!” He threatened, panting as he tried for one more time, his arm trembling as he finally managed to get up from the cold, stone floor. He staggered forward, trying to plant his feet and drag the other boy along, but the pace moved as slow as he could have expected.

 

Tom groaned, feeling sweat dripping down his torso, soaking into the front of dress robes. “Harry, you’re supposed to be the strong one, because you’re so awful at advanced magic!” He frowned at the other, wheezing boy, his words as empty as his threats.

 

Perhaps it was true that he was not made heavy labor, but he would be damned if he let Harry die right when he finally yanked him away from the clutches of his captor, and managed to alienate himself from his entire peer group in doing so. Tom was certain that his ‘farewell speech’ to all of the present purebloods and their children would be the final nail in his metaphoric (and perhaps literal) coffin.

 

He felt a chill pass through him. Gulping hard, he decided to concentrate on the task at hand, and do his best not to think of exactly how many bridges he had just burned by dropping an entire chandelier on Lord Black and destroying his ballroom.

 

“Harry.” Tom jostled him, if only just to see if those brilliant green eyes would finally open and acknowledge him. “Harry, stay awake. I...I have no idea what your symptoms are. I demand that you stay awake! Do you hear me?” He continued, dragging him along the long corridor over to the Infirmary. He panted, gulping down air and feeling the sweat drip down his torso on both the front and back.

 

Tom bit his lip hard to stifle his loud breathing. He had no time for this kind of weakness. As far as he was aware, the Infirmary had been vacated for the holidays at this time of night. Tom let loose a slow sigh of relief as he hoisted Harry forward. His shoulder and chest burned from carrying the weight of the other boy as he slumped against Tom’s side. He clenched his teeth, locking in a gasp of panic as he realized that Harry’s breathing had become more shallow.

 

Tom didn’t hesitate. He found the first available bed, which would be any of them at this point, and shoved the shorter boy on to it, watching as he flopped down on the thin grey comforter and white blanket. The bed creaked beneath his paltry weight, nearly blocking out the sound of the infirmary door groaning as it opening up once again on it’s aged hinges, but there was no time to close it once again.

 

“Harry.” He snapped, his voice tight and grim. “You’ll be just fine. I’m going to revive you. Do you understand me?” He grunted, tugging him up so that his mass of messy hair laid on the pillow and his dirty, abused body rested on the bed. Blood smeared across the blankets beneath him.

 

Tom’s mind spun. As soon as his body was free to move without Harry weighing him down, his thoughts ran in endless circles. _Where were the healing potions? What variety did he need? How had he gotten these wounds? Why was this happening now, when they had finally managed to make their grand escape?_

 

Tom took a deep breath, focused his attention on Harry’s broken body, and decided that this was the moment for action. “You’ll need to heal these scratches. We won’t know of any internal bleeding, so we will need something that heals both.” He murmured, speeding his way over to the clear cabinet that contained what looked like a bright green vial of thick liquid. The floor shifted beneath his feet, but Tom caught himself on the counter, leaving a smear of dried blood from his hand across the surface as he yanked the glass doors open and grabbed at the delicate vial. It took him another moment of precious time for his head to stop spinning, before he stepped back to Harry. Forcing his head back, he tried to open the boy’s mouth with one hand and pour the contents of the vial with the other.

 

The liquid pooled on Harry’s lips. He sputtered, spitting and coughing weakly as his breath came in low, soft gasps, the liquid rolling right off of his tongue and out of his mouth again.

 

“Damn it, Harry!” Tom snapped, his grip on the other boy’s head tightening as his mind worked quickly. He did not want to have to resort to this. It felt strange and somehow wrong, as if he were stealing something away from Harry yet again. Urgency burned in his mind, but grim determination hit him in full force. He had no time to waste. Harry’s life was on the line and Tom was wasting time with guilt for trying to save him.

 

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.” He muttered, giving the contents of the vial a preemptive swirl before he emptied them into his own mouth. He tossed the vial away, hearing the soft tingle of shattered glass somewhere behind him. In one smooth motion, he tilted Harry’s head back, grabbed his chin prying his mouth open and then forced their lips together, transferring the entire potion to Harry’s mouth. He came back up for air, and in an instant, his hand was clamped over Harry’s mouth, forcing him to swallow.

 

For a terrified moment, he was certain that Harry would spit it back up, right through his slender fingers, but the boy arched up and fought, trying desperately to get his body to respond and work. He kicked at the bottom of the bed frame, his hand shooting up to grab on to Tom’s wrist, clenching at it, but not trying to pull it away. Tom peered down at him, frozen in place with dread. _What if Harry didn’t respond to this? What if he continued to wane away? What if he died? What if Harry died right now on this bed? What if he turned cold, and those bright eyes never opened again? What if-_

 

Harry swallowed the potion. Tom felt the muscles of his mouth and neck move and slowly lifted his hand, taking a tentative step back. His mouth fell open as if he should have some kind of spell to cast, some sort of enchantment that might be able to help, but his brain had gone completely numb.

 

Harry gasped and sputtered, forcing himself into a seated position in the flimsy, infirmary bed as he gaped at Tom, his breath coming in long, wheezes, his broken glasses sitting crooked on his nose. A moment passed between them in which all they could seem to do was stare, dumbfounded at one another.

 

“S-so, that was your Plan B?” Harry nodded to Tom, but the gesture made his head slump forward, sluggish and weak.

 

“Yes.” Tom leaned forward to grasp metal piping of the headboard, feeling his legs beginning to sway beneath him.

 

“That was a terrible Plan B.” Harry wheezed.

 

“I said you wouldn’t like it.”

 

“ _Mr. Riddle._ ”

 

A third voice joined them, sending a chill directly down Tom’s spine. “Would you kindly explain what’s going on here?” The voice continued, calm and cold.

 

Tom felt his entire abused body tense. He took a deep breath, not wanting to admit to how stupid he had been just a few moments ago, not wanting to have to turn around and face the aggravating man directly behind him. But he _knew_ , beyond a shadow of a doubt. He knew what was to come.

 

“Hello Professor Dumbledore.” Tom had to admit, he had a sense of pride as to how confident he sounded, despite being covered in sweat, debris, dust and perhaps even some broken glass. He smiled pleasantly in spite of the look that the professor was giving him.

 

Albus stood just a bit taller than Tom, and despite that paltry difference, he was making every single inch of it count. He glowered down at the young boy, his clear blue eyes aflame with anger, yet aside from that, he seemed to be entirely unreadable to Tom.

 

_Big surprise._

 

“Well, you see,” Tom began, trying to take a smooth step and perhaps block Harry from view somehow. “It was such a lovely evening for a walk-“

 

“The truth, Mr. Riddle.”

 

“Sir, I wouldn’t lie to you. There really was a great deal of walking involved-“

 

Albus looked on the edge of interrupting for a second time when a sound interrupted the both of them. A tiny, watery gasp. Tom nearly tripped over himself as he turned to face Harry, thinking that perhaps the potion had somehow backfired.

 

Harry sat in his small bed, a hand firmly clamped over his mouth as silent tears coursed down his face, pooling around his fingertips and dripping all the way down his chin. Even his pitifully broken glasses seemed to have a few tears clinging to the edge. He fought back a second sob, biting his lip hard as he forced his hand back down to the bed.

 

“Sir, I’m so sorry.” He gave a great sniff, fighting for composure. “I should have told you this when I could, it was never your fault. Your sister, you loved her so much and it was not your fault. You’ve always tried to do the right thing. I know you did. You were _robbed_ of her. I’m so sorry. You deserved so much better.” Harry tried to keep his voice as even as possible with tears streaming down his face. “You must think I’m mad. None of this must make sense.”

 

Tom stared at him, genuinely gaping now. Not only had he never heard the other boy speak of his bloody past (technically Tom’s lost future), but he had never ever seen him so much as tear up. But here he was, caught within the gaze of the ‘great’ Albus Dumbledore, sobbing like a child.

 

“He’s a friend of mine!” Tom took this pause to jump in, whirling around and trying to clean up yet another mess of words. “He got into a bit of a situation with a beast outside of…” Tom trailed off, the lie dying on his lips as he stared at Dumbledore, watching as the sharp edges of his face softened, while those pristine blue eyes widened in shock. The color drained from him, and for a second, Tom was certain that the man was about to pass out.

 

In one swift motion, Dumbledore grabbed Tom by the arm with surprising strength, sternly holding him in place. “I need to speak with your _friend_.”

 

“He’s completely sane. It was...it must have been the attack, Professor.” Tom’s words felt so much slower than his mind, as if his tongue kept tripping over his own thoughts. “He should be in top shape in just a short while, he just needs a bit of rest! He’s just-“

 

“You’ll be staying in my office for the time being.” Dumbledore snapped, his glare piercing into Tom, yet as he spoke, Tom had the remarkable sensation that his clear, crisp voice was becoming further and further away. “I’ll deal with you as soon as I can sort through what the blazes is going on here.”

 

Tom opened his mouth to say something witty, but the room had the audacity to shift under his feet. One moment, he had been standing tall, confident, and speaking eloquently. The next moment, he found himself staring up at Dumbledore, wondering how he had become so very tall. Dumbledore staggered backwards, glancing down at the hand that had been gripping Tom’s arm a few seconds ago.

 

It was covered in red.

 

Strange. Harry hadn’t been bleeding enough to leave so much on Tom’s torn dress robes.

 

Dumbledore started to speak, the words a faraway distant echo. Tom couldn’t help but laugh softly at the sight of him mouthing ‘ _Mr. Riddle? Tom?_ ’, but the laughter sent a searing pain across his abdomen, right where Lord Black’s last attack had connected.

 

His eyelids felt so damned heavy. So did his head for that matter and it kept slumping backward whenever Tom stopped concentrating. His vision swam as Dumbledore became a blur of motion and disappeared completely. He tried to form words, but his lips had numbed and his tongue felt useless.

 

He felt the cool, stone floor against his cheek, sighing in relief as he realized how remarkably easy it would be to fall asleep now. He was just so tired. He couldn’t remember ever being this tired before. His eyelids kept getting heavier and heavier.

 

Tom glanced up. He spotted Harry peering down at him over the edge of his bed, his broken glasses tilted and cracked, dirt and dust smeared across his tan face. His brow creased in concern as his mouth opened again and again, saying something, but the echo of his words sounded so far off. Tom tilted his head curiously at him. He wanted to say something witty that would make him smile instead of looking so concerned, but his vision blurred and his eyelids kept sliding shut, leaving the memory of those brilliant green eyes burned into his mind.

 

Harry seemed to be doing alright now. He supposed he could afford to take a bit of a rest, couldn’t he?

 

It had been a long night.

 

And he was so tired.

 

So cold.

  


Xx

 

A feeling of numb panic set over Harry as he watched Tom’s obsidian eyes roll back and slide closed.

 

His hand reached down to touch Tom, skimming over the deathly white skin of his cheek, and reeling at how clammy and cold the other boy felt beneath his fingertips. “Headmaster!” He cried out, glancing around wildly to find where Dumbledore had run off to, only to find him dashing back to the bedside carrying his wand in one hand a long, thin vial of bubbling purple liquid in the other. Golden symbols were carved into the cork and around the edge, but Harry didn’t have a chance to see exactly what they were before Dumbledore began.

 

He tore the cork from the top of the vial with his teeth, spitting it off to the side. It ricocheted off of the floor with a flash of brilliant blue sparks. With a flick of his wrist and a flash of his wand, Tom’s dress robes sliced neatly in half, sliding off of his chest. The deep gray color of his robes and the low lighting of the infirmary had hidden it up until this point, but the fabric had turned to a deep blood red. Harry felt his stomach clench.

 

Right beneath his sternum, Harry’s eyes widened as he spotted a deep, sizzling dark burn, surrounded by bloody, angry red flesh. He bit back a gasp of horror at the smell of burning skin as blood leaked from all around the wound, dripping from his chest and dribbling down to where his ruined, soaked robes pooled beneath his body.

 

Dumbledore wasted no time. He poured the contents of the long vial directly on the wound. Harry sat, entranced by the sight as Albus whispered something fluid and unintelligible, causing the symbols along the rim of the vial to glitter and glow as the contents splashed across the wound and pooled on Tom’s chest.

 

The burning stopped and the dark matter dissolved into nothing, leaving an open flesh wound. Dumbledore lifted his wand and began to trace across the the broken surface of Tom’s pale skin as Harry watched in agonizing silence punctuated by the low murmur of Albus’ words and Tom’s shallow breathing.

 

Once.

 

Twice.

 

Thrice.

 

Harry felt near to bursting with anticipation before he finally spotted motion through the shattered lens of his glasses. The blood on the surface of the wound turned a deep, thick red, hardening into a scab at a rapid pace before skin beneath it began to knit itself together beneath, forming a delicate latticework of thin scar tissue that pushed the scabs out of the way. Tom’s ragged breathing eased with each passing second until finally, he settled into a comfortable slumber.

 

Harry hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath until his lungs began to ache. He released a huge sigh and settled trembling back against the pillow of the stiff cot. The tension in his hands eased away, leaving small crescents pressed into his trembling palms.

 

He spotted Dumbledore, with a grunt of effort, lifting Tom from the ground and half carrying, half dragging him over to the bed just beside Harry’s own. It was striking to see this younger, stronger version of his former headmaster move about with such ease, even going so far as to carry another person along with him. Yet again, Tom’s slender body probably weighed about as much as Harry’s left bicep, so the challenge of dragging him around wasn’t too demanding, thankfully.

 

Watching Dumbledore work magic tugged at that old sense of nostalgia and wonder as, with a single wave of his wand, all of that blood slid away from Tom’s pale skin, and the soft blankets beneath him wrapped around his bare body. Part of the spellwork was blocked from view by Dumbledore’s turned back, but Harry saw enough to feel assured. The tension eased away from his shoulders fading from his mind.

 

Dumbledore would make everything fine. It had been so long since he could allow himself to let another take care of the little details.

 

But he trusted Dumbledore.

 

He had missed Dumbledore.

 

“I’m so glad you’re alright, Sir.” Harry gulped, feeling his throat become tight once again, feeling his eyes burn with tears he refused to let slide once again.

 

Dumbledore turned, those steely blue eyes softening as if awoken from the trance of his own spellwork. “Oh…” He breathed, as if the sudden turn of events had almost pushed Harry’s presence from his mind. He calmed, turning to face Harry completely now, making the differences between Albus’ younger and older self all the more apparent.

 

The aged lines of his face that Harry had grown so accustomed to over his years attending school were not present. Instead, a middle-aged man peered down at him, perplexed and concern creasing his brow, a neatly trimmed, russet colored beard along the edge of his jaw. He wore a smart set of deep navy robes that settled around his slight frame, turned midnight blue in the low light of the infirmary, a few dark blood stains along where he had been carrying Tom. Moonlight filtered through the windows and casting deep shadows on his face, showing the deep circles of lost sleep beneath his eyes.

 

“I would introduce myself, but it seems you’re already well aware of who I am.”

 

His voice was so gentle, so comforting, Harry felt his heart twist. It was like a dream, to be able to speak to his old mentor again like this.

 

Dumbledore took Harry’s silence as an invitation to continue. “Your friend…” He gestured behind him, to Tom’s unconscious form on the bed. “Should be just fine. I must insist that you let me attend to your wounds as well before this rather messy night confronts us with anything more extreme.”

 

Harry tried to respond. His voice didn’t seem to be working, no matter how many times he gulped hard and cleared his throat. Dumbledore moved smoothly back to Harry’s bedside, seating himself on the edge to get a better look at him, his keen eyes taking in every detail as he placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He took a moment to let his young companion collect himself. “And what might I have the pleasure of calling you?” He murmured, concern giving way to kindness, an encouraging smile curving his lips.

 

“My name is Harry Potter.” Harry muttered, the words spilling out, broken and disjointed, but just as genuine and truthful as he ever was. “Forgive me for acting like this, S-Sir. In _my_ time, you’ve been dead for almost a decade.”

 

Dumbledore paused, his expression faltering for just a moment as he locked eyes with the young man before him and searched for the truth, easily finding it.

 

“Harry,” He began in slow, measured tones. “I’m going to to make us a cup of tea and get you something a bit more substantial.” He patted Harry’s shoulder, “I have a feeling we’re going to be chatting about this for quite a while.” He admitted, an echo of shell-shocked disbelief in his tone.


End file.
